


The Sharp Edge of a Blade

by insideofadog



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Diary/Journal, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Letters, Romance, Sexual Content, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-14 05:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 46
Words: 144,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4552782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insideofadog/pseuds/insideofadog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a sequel to the story "The Soul has Bandaged Moments." Same capable (and slightly odd) Inquisitor, same stuffy (and extremely sexy) Commander.</p><p>But now it falls to Evelyn to make decisions about the future: both the Inquisition's, and her own. Evelyn seeks to examine the past of the Inquisition in order to not repeat its mistakes, but she and her companions must also deal with their own histories before they can move forward.</p><p>Still a story about a couple of adults trying to make it work, despite their pasts. Still told in the Inquisition's own words through letters and journal entries. Still got humor, sex, friendship, and romance. Pace will be different since I'm going off-canon (with plenty of DLC-lore-related backup), but we'll see how it goes. Whee!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "The Soul has Bandaged Moments" is available here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3272444/
> 
> Why not give it a read before embarking upon this story, so you are acquainted with the characters?

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan’s personal journal:_

 

I sit on the edge of a half-rotted dock, on the shore of a clear blue lake. The weather is perfect, especially for late summer. The cool wind drifts across the surface of the water, blowing wisps of my hair skyward. For a moment, the entire world is blessedly, peacefully silent.

“Trevelyan!” someone barks from behind me, and I half-turn to see two Knights Templar approaching. “What in Andraste’s name are you doing?”

I look down. My hands are covered in the viscera of a duck.

“Cleaning dinner, Knight-Captain,” I reply. I dip the bird's body into the lake, and the blood and guts float away, clouding the water.

“You weren’t in camp,” he snaps. “Nobody knew where you went.”

“I do apologize, Ser Liam,” I say. “You must have been worried I was trying to escape the Circle.”

I hear a laugh, poorly concealed as a cough. I have no problems imagining the look Liam gives his subordinate, but I do not look up, and concentrate instead on preparing the duck for the evening meal.

“Gone from hunting demons to ducks, huh?” Liam grunts. “How’d you kill it?”

“I used a warding rune I set this morning when I went swimming. My absence did not appear to be a problem then,” I observe.

“That’s because there were two other mages with you, and Ser Robin was _generously_ keeping an eye on you,” he says sarcastically, rolling his eyes at his companion. “What are you even going out there for? I know you can’t swim.”

Liam does not appear to be leaving, so I turn. I look up at the other Templar, finally noticing that it is Robin. Dark eyes, dark hair pulled back in braids. Is he Rivaini? Can’t remember now, not important. He looks uncomfortable, unsettled. A bad sign.

“I’m teaching myself and the others,” I say mildly. “And before you ask why, it’s so we don’t drown.”

“Oh,” he says. “Will you?”

“Drown?” I ask. “No, Knight-Captain, I won’t. Not anymore.”

I place the duck down on a piece of oilskin and pick something smaller up, gripping it in my hand and freezing it slightly to make plucking it easier. Liam’s eyes get sharp when he feels my magic.

“What’s that?”

I sigh, open my hand, wishing he would go away and stop asking questions. It’s just a little thing, some fluff, some feathers, and rather mangy looking.

“She had some young. I thought about…burying them, but I think I can clean and cook them, too. No need to waste.” I nod towards the edge of the lake as I begin to remove the duckling's feathers. “One is still alive over there. I do not know if it if is old enough to survive. I should have studied more about wildlife,” I sigh. “I know nothing of its life cycle.”

He shields his eyes, squints at the bird as it wanders back and forth. It appears to have settled down somewhat.

I am glad the wind has shifted, as it had been blowing the duckling’s forlorn, questioning noises towards me for half an hour. I still feel guilty even without hearing its cries. The sounds it made…

“Should be fine,” he tells me. “Looks mature. It can fly. Probably. She most likely already taught it everything it needs to know; instinct takes care of the rest. If a fox doesn’t eat it.”

“Yes, Knight-Captain,” I say, then begin to cut open the smaller body to clean the cavity.

“Where’d you get that knife?” More questions. I no longer need to be polite in the face of his grilling, but it is hard to shake old habits.

“Over several weeks before I approached you about leaving the Circle, I…acquired a number of supplies from the kitchens, in case the situation deteriorated. It…did.”

“Why don’t you have that dagger I gave you, Enchanter?” he snapped.

“You took it back every time I returned to the Circle, Ser,” I observe, glancing down at the knife in my hand. Odd that he’d forgotten. “Unsurprisingly, it is significantly easier for a mage to sneak items out of the kitchen than it is to smuggle weapons from the armory.” I nod towards my staff, resting within easy reach. “We are, of course, grateful you were able to aid us as much as you did, but I do not have that dagger.”

“That thing you’re using is incredibly dull.”

I look at the knife in my hand. He is right. Infuriating man.

“Knight-Captain—” I bite out, then take a deep breath, then another. “We have been here for three days, Ser Liam. I have spoken with the other mages, and we are almost ready to leave. We will have gathered enough supplies and medicinal herbs by tomorrow, or the day after at the latest.”

He cocks his head at me suspiciously. “Why would you wanna leave here, Trevelyan? We leave, we’re likely to hit more rebel mages, or wandering Templars looking for trouble. World’s gone crazy. Best to sit still. We have everything we need, at least for a while.”

“You are being deliberately obtuse, Knight-Captain.” I shot him a glance. “The mages have everything we need here, but _you_ do not. We mages voted on it, and agreed we _all_ need to leave. Together.”

“Mages voting,” he shakes his head. “What a load of—“

“Don’t change the _fucking_ subject, Liam!” I yell, slamming the knife and the dead bird down on the oilcloth. He takes a step back in surprise. I am possibly more shocked at my outburst than he is. I must be exhausted. _I am not a woman_ , I remind myself. _I am a mage, a weapon_. _I am fire. I am the sharp edge of a blade_. 

I am also tired of him not listening to me. I keep talking, struggling to regain my calm. 

“Robin’s had headaches for three days. Carter’s hands won’t stop shaking. Once, just once, will you listen to me? Maker’s breath, I wanted to keep moving, but we were nearly out of elfroot after treating Ella, and Morgan needs to keep off that broken ankle for another day at bare minimum.”

He blinks at me, then scowls.

“Calm down, Evelyn,” he snaps. “We…we’ll talk about it tomorrow, all right?”

I take another deep breath, push the anger down.

“Yes, Knight-Captain,” I say, calm again, and I turn back to my work. I pick the knife and the duckling up, finish cutting it open, and dump its entrails into the lake. I wash my hands, watching as the currents push the animal's guts towards its sibling, still pacing at the edge of the water.

I hear a noise, and look up to see Liam has removed something from his belt.

“Here, take this.” He hands me a dagger in a small leather sheath, the one he always wears. Simple but well-made. “It’s yours now. I told you how to take care of a blade, so keep it sharp, Trevelyan. Like I showed you,” he adds.

Maybe things are not as dire as they seem.

“Thank you, Knight-Captain,” I smile a quick, genuine smile. I would never admit it, but I like having something of his. A gift, almost. I look down to attach it to my belt, and when I look up, he has already walked away. Ser Robin remains, however.

“He’s going to leave,” Robin hisses. “He never respected you. He deserves to burn.” He is not really Robin, not anymore. Poor Robin.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“Little lost bird cries and cries. ‘Why?’ it asks, but you know why. See?” Blue flames lick idly out of his mouth, and he points at my hand. For a moment, I am reminded of someone else, but I cannot place who it could be.

I turn my left hand over, and a fiery gash splits open in my palm. I shake it, and hot embers spill out of my body, falling to the old dock below.

“This isn’t right,” I say.

“No, it isn’t,” Robin growls. “They always leave you, don’t they? If you mattered, wouldn’t they have said goodbye? Wouldn’t they have told you?”

He gestures back towards the camp. “And the ones who are left, those mages expect you to help them, but they’re the ones who called you ‘traitor,’ aren’t they? They hate you, but when they get themselves into trouble, who do they come to? They’ll bleed you dry, Evelyn, and then they’ll ask for more. And they’ll _hate_ you for _that_ , too.”

"It will keep happening until you stop it." Robin's handsome face parts in a sudden grin. “Aren’t you…angry?”

“I’m not angry,” I protest, but I look at my hand again, and it is engulfed in flames. For a moment, I _am_ angry, but I know the tricks demons play. I force myself to examine those feelings closely, lest I be overwhelmed.

“Yes, they left me here,” I say, “but this is only the memory of being hurt and afraid. It was long ago now, and I was ready. I was strong enough. And the mages…they bear scars, just like me, and so many have been through so much worse. I will be patient, and I will hope that if I can forgive, so can they.”

I look around at the lake. “This is the past,” I say. “I must focus on the future. I am the Inquisitor.”

I concentrate for a moment, squeezing a tight fist, tamping down the feelings, packing them away. I am calm again. When I open my hand, a small piece of hot volcanic glass rests there, reflecting the green light of the Anchor. I drop the rock into the lake, and it sizzles and bubbles as it sinks to the bottom.

“Leave,” I tell the demon, “and if you come back here again, I will destroy you. You cannot tempt me. I am more than you will ever be.”

“You called me,” it says. “Called me to crawl though, to crack and burn their bones to cinders and ash. Isn’t that what you want? Haven’t they all gathered _in your home_ to ask for your help after they left you? They want your power,” it whispers. “You should show it to them. I will help you.”

“I am going to wake up now,” I say.

“I’ll be back,” it promises.

“Perhaps.” I turn my hand over, there is a flash of green instead of red, and…

I awake.

The dreams have not subsided.

I have left a scorched handprint on my sheets.

_  
_


	2. Simple as That

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan’s personal journal:_

 

Luckily, Cullen had already left for the morning, so I stripped the sheets myself for the servants to take away. Afterwards, I walked down to the practice fields to clear my head. I must speak to him about this later, but in the past he has become…upset when I have mentioned the content of some of my dreams. I must be sensitive, and broach the subject at an opportune time. Unfortunately, there seems to be no such thing as an “opportune time” to talk to a Templar—former or otherwise—about encountering demons in the Fade.

As I strolled down the hill, I caught the strains of a familiar voice. Knight-Captain Liam was berating mages again.

“You’re off your feet, Enchanter!” he bellowed down at a young woman in robes. She was sprawled on her back, gripping a staff and looking terrified. Nothing unusual, then.

He stood next to Knight-Captain Rylen, and Madame Vivienne and Commander Helene were supervising from the fence. I walked up to them, nodded a greeting, and continued to observe the exercise.

Last week, he’d been wearing his usual scuffed-up leather armor, providing instruction on advanced combat techniques with a staff. Today, Liam was dressed in full Templar plate.

“What do you do? NOW, Enchanter!” His basic instructional technique appeared unchanged.

“Err…a Mind Blast, Ser? It dazes combatants for a moment, enough for me to get up and away?” attempted the recruit.

“A solid plan, Enchanter, but you know that’s not the point! Your reserves are depleted, or you’re facing a Templar—Rylen!” He pointed at the younger man, and I felt a very strong anti-magic field snap up. As always, the effect made me feel vaguely queasy as my connection to the Fade was cut off. The poor mage on the ground looked as if she might vomit.

“Your magic is useless; what do you do?” he shouted.

“Pray!” she yelled back. “Die! I don’t _know_! Andraste’s ass, you’re trained to kill me! What I am I supposed to do?” She seemed on the verge of tears. “Commander Helene, this is pointless!”

He glanced up at Helene and saw me. “Inquisitor!” he barked. “Come here and show this pathetic piece of bronto dung what to do!”

“You were right, Vivenne,” Helene said in her clipped voice. “He’s doing them a world of good.”

“Of course, my dear,” drawled Vivienne. “I think he’s divine. Harmless, but they don’t know that.”

“Is that a direct order, Knight-Captain?” I grinned as I climbed over the fence.

“Yes, it is!” he snarled.

I walked over and pulled the frightened mage up.

“First off, young lady…what’s your name?” She was in her mid-twenties. Apparently I am getting old and calling people “young lady” now.

“Uh, Leonora, Your Worship. Enchanter of the White Spire,” she stuttered, possibly more intimidated by me than Liam.

“The first thing to remember, _Inquisition_ Enchanter Leonora,” I corrected gently, “is that Templars will yell at you. They yelled at you in the White Spire, maybe they yelled when they took you away from your family, and when they yell, you listen. They’re frightening; they are trained to kill you, to sever that which makes you unique.”

She nodded hesitantly. I pointed at Liam and Rylen.

“Look at them,” I instructed. “Do they terrify you?”

She nodded much more emphatically. Rylen’s generally dour face split into a toothy grin. That man is formal and disciplined on the battlefield, but when he’s not there—even I can tell that he is trouble.

“Good. Acknowledge it, then let it go,” I told her, gently. “If you can overcome your fear of the Templars, then you will be able to face any assailant.”

“Reach into your heart and become calm. The Knight-Enchanter relies on her combat clarity, and that comes from here,” I pressed my fingers against her forehead, “and here,” and I put my palm against her chest. “Your heart is beating too fast. Commander Helene and Madame Vivienne have taught you to slow your heartbeat, have they not? Take a step back from your fear, and breathe.”

She looked down at her heart, where my hand sat, the one bearing the Anchor. Green light seeped out around my fingers. She swallowed and nodded. “I feel better when you touch me, but…I’m cut off from the Fade, Your Worship,” she grimaced. “It…makes me sick. I can’t think.”

“Slow your heart, Enchanter Leonora. Seek clarity,” I murmured, and she took a breath beneath my hand, and another. Her heart stopped hammering against my palm, and I smiled at her. “Very good.”

“Losing your magic is unpleasant, Enchanter,” I continued, “but not nearly as unpleasant as I assume dying is. You are not just your connection to the Fade—as a future Knight-Enchanter, your entire being must be a weapon. Give me your staff.”

“Are you gonna show her what to do, or just stand there massaging her tits all day?” Liam snapped. Rylen snorted.

“They yell and laugh because they want to control you, to frighten you,” I continued, keeping my hand on her heart, “but you must also remember that, like children, they make noise to drown out their own fear, their fear of you.”

Liam spat on the ground. “Maybe I’m afraid I’m gonna die of old age before you get around to helping me here.”

Leonora handed me her staff, and I nodded for her to step back. I lay down on the ground in an approximation of the position she’d been in.

“The Knight-Captain is impatient because he needs his afternoon nap,” I said, and she smiled hesitantly.

“The staff is a wonderful weapon when it comes to keeping distance between you and your opponent, but sometimes, you must get closer.” I nodded at him. “Run through it slowly the first time, Liam, so they can see.”

He disregarded my request and came at me fast, swinging his sword down in an overhand blow. I blocked with the staff, and as he stood over me, I kicked him in the stomach, pushing him back. Instead of attempting to move away, I brought myself up on one knee and swung the staff with both hands, dealing him a sharp rap on his ankle. Harder, and it might have knocked him off his feet.

“Ankles,” I said. He came at me again, swinging down, and instead of catching the blow, I rolled to the side and swung the staff again, tapping the back of his knees with the blade.

“Knees,” I said. He reached down with his free hand and I allowed him to wrench the staff from my grasp, throwing it away.

I used the forward momentum he provided to move myself into a crouch, very close to his flank, almost behind him. When I came up, I had my dagger in my hand, and tapped the hilt first on the bottom of his armpit, then the crook of his neck.

“Arm and neck,” I said.

He grunted in approval and sheathed his sword, and I fetched Leonora’s staff.

“You see that? She got up close, like I keep telling you. Horse can’t kick you if you’re standing next to it,” he said. “Some of you said you were too good to carry daggers, said you were maaages.” He drew the last word out, wiggling his fingers at them.

“Last I checked, your Inquisitor’s a fancy Knight-Enchanter, and she’s always got one. Maybe two if she’s got big plans for the day. Besides, I hear she _likes_ standing real close to Templars in her spare time, and if it’s good enough for her, it’s good enough for you.” The mages looked shocked at his outright disrespect. Ser Rylen’s grin spread even wider.

“Only the Templars who bathe more than once a year, Liam,” I observed. “I think we can all tell you’re obviously in no danger from me. Ser Rylen, however, should watch his back.” And the mages chuckled, dissolving some of the tension and frustration in the air.

“Your strategy might vary depending on the blade attached to your staff. Allow me to run you through this again,” I said as I picked up the discarded weapon. “Ankles: if you have a sickle, then that first move could be used to pull him off his feet, possibly cutting the tendons at the back of his ankle. Knees: arteries and tendons at the back of the legs, sliced with a blade. Arm and shoulder: a straight blade, either the dagger or the staff, should be directed at vulnerable areas in the armor.”

“Enchanter Leonora!” I snapped. She pulled herself up to attention. “What _are_ the vulnerable areas of plate armor?”

“I…arm and shoulder?”

“Learn these,” I announced. “Four locations that _will_ save your life. Here, here, here, and here,” I instructed, pointing respectively at the back of Liam’s leg, the inside of his elbow, his armpit, and his neck.

“From now on, if anyone asks you where you stab a man in plate armor, I expect you to know those four locations: knee, elbow, armpit, neck. If you’re not carrying a dagger, you should be, and you will practice with both it and your staff.”

I casually walked around behind Ser Rylen, gesturing as I lectured.

“This will work with any opponent in heavy armor, but as you know, you are _doubly_ vulnerable when you find yourself up close to a Templar who is cancelling your magic. They will always expect you to panic, to try to run, or in this case, crawl away like a crab. They will _not_ expect you to move in close, to strike back aggressively and physically, and the element of surprise can save you. And remember: just as you must concentrate to maintain your clarity, so must the Templar concentrate to maintain his abilities.”

Gripping the top half of the staff, I swung it at the back of Ser Rylen’s breastplate and hit him squarely between the shoulders with the flat of the blade. The blow did no damage, but it made a loud clanging noise and caught him by surprise, and he jumped and dropped the anti-magic field. A bit more color came back into the world.

I patted his shoulder as I walked by him, and he blinked at me in surprise. “I _did_ tell you to watch your back, Ser Rylen,” I informed him.

“Aye, Inquisitor,” he agreed, and gave me a queasy smile. I wondered if he’d been drinking the night before.

“Your Worship,” Enchanter Leonora began, glancing at Liam, “this is the first day we’ve talked about this kind of fighting, and we were wondering…why should we bother? The Templar Order’s gone; they’re either part of the Inquisition now or joining the Seekers. The Red Templars are broken.”

Liam snorted. “That’s a fine point, if all you wanna do is lay around drinking tea all day and being useless and flabby like a Circle mage. This isn’t all about Templars—mercs in heavy armor are everywhere, Enchanter, and that’s who I’m teaching you how to fight.”

He scratched his stubble. “Besides, Red Templars aren’t gone, and there are still renegade Templars out there half outta their minds who’d kill you for those little watered-down lyrium potions you like to haul around with you. And then there’s blood magic—a maleficar can make anybody stick a dagger in your guts, just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“The Knight-Captain is correct,” I nodded, “but more importantly, as you say, many of the Templars are now our allies. As a Knight-Enchanter with the Inquisition, you will eventually find yourself fighting _beside_ a Templar, _against_ mages who threaten the innocent. If your Templar companions must use their abilities, you need to be able to effectively defend yourself—without getting sick, I might add. Your abilities must support theirs, and theirs will support yours.”

“That’s it for today,” Liam snapped. “If you won’t listen to me, listen to the Inquisitor. Get to the quartermaster, get a blasted dagger, and be back here after the midday meal. Don’t eat too much—we’re running drills and apparently _the Inquisitor_ doesn’t want her precious mages puking their guts up.”

The mages headed off, rubbing sore muscles and commiserating with each other, and Helene and Vivienne followed them.

“Buncha pasty things,” he muttered. “They the best you got?”

“If they were, I wouldn’t need you to train them, would I?” I smiled. “The best I have is already in the field.”

“Interesting, Inquisitor,” Ser Rylen said. He was looking a bit better. “Have you taught before?”

“I primarily instructed apprentices in ways to resist demonic possession during and after their Harrowings, Knight-Captain,” I smiled at his inquiry. “Many of the techniques—acknowledging and overcoming your own weaknesses, maintaining emotional calm, knowing how your enemies will approach you and how to survive their attacks—lend themselves quite well to the training for a Knight-Enchanter.”

“I see.” He nodded. “Will you assist when they begin to train with their spirit blades?”

“Probably not. Knight-Enchanters are trained to master different techniques with the weapon than I employ. They will create their blades much earlier than I was able to. I had no one like Commander Helene to instruct me, so much of what I can do emerged from self-directed study. My technique makes Madame Vivienne shudder.”

Liam snorted. “You’re better than any of those robes, and they know it.”

Ser Rylen shot Liam a surprised glance. He must not have been expecting to hear anything positive come out of the Knight-Captain today. “I’d be interested in seeing that sometime, Inquisitor,” Rylen said. “Perhaps you would care to spar with me one day—when you have the time, of course,” he added politely.

“I’d like that,” I smiled. “Now, if you’d excuse us, Ser Rylen, would you mind if I spoke to Liam privately for a few moments?”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” he nodded. “I was just killing time, waiting for the Commander to grace his office with his presence.”

“Behave yourself, Rylen,” I said mildly. “The Commander needs his beauty rest.”

“Mmm,” he said severely, but the weathered skin crinkled around his eyes. “I’m sure it takes him hours to get his hair just right.” He saluted and sauntered off.

I am interested in getting to know more about Ser Rylen, as he is Cullen’s only remaining friend who predates the Inquisition, and I sense a curiosity from him as well. I must admit that I like this, very much. It makes me feel…normal.

“Starkhaven,” Liam scoffed, scratching at his moustache. “Bunch of bastards. Anyway, what do you want, Trevelyan? I feel like shit today. I feel like shit every day. Your fault.”

“Are you drinking the tea I gave you?” I asked, as we began to walk out of the training grounds, back to Skyhold.

“Tasted like shit. Made me throw up.” He spat on the ground in front of us.

“No, you threw up because you’re going through lyrium withdrawal, and you’re a stubborn old goat who doesn’t want to take medicine.” I sighed and rubbed my head. “I’m sorry I’ve been away from Skyhold. I should be here to take care of you.”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “What are you going on about? You get hit in the head or almost die or something? I need a mage taking care of me like I need a…something I don’t need, that’s what.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, and we walked in silence for a few minutes. Seeing him in my dream has reminded me that he has aged significantly since those events. His moustache is almost entirely grey, and he has more lines around his eyes. In our days as hunters, it was difficult to guess his age, but he seems to have added almost a decade in the time since we parted in the Free Marches. I suspect the intervening years have not been kind to me, either. Perhaps the scar beside my eye will take care of any future crow’s feet?

“You think those Orlesian cream puffs you brought me are really gonna fight beside Templars, Evelyn?” he asked after a moment. “They’re setting up their own little College of Enchanters, you know. No Templars invited. Maybe you'll run out of mages.”

“Some of them will stay, Liam,” I replied. He has started calling me by my given name more frequently these days, and I must admit that it makes me feel good. “Not all, but more mages than you’d think have expressed interest in continuing to serve the Inquisition, and they know what that entails. The question is, will the Templars fight with the mages?”

He shrugged. “The Templars you got here will do what you tell ‘em to do. Some of ‘em might join the Seekers, but that’s a tough road and Pentagast’s even more of a pain in the ass than you are. They’ll most likely stay with the Inquisition, but the real question is, what is the Inquisition gonna be? You decide that, then folks will decide where they wanna go. Simple as that.”

“Simple as that, huh?” I shot him a look.

“Yep,” he said. We reached the top of the path and he shifted his shoulders in his armor and made a face. “I gotta get out of this crap. It’s like an oven in here.”

“Let me know if you need more tea,” I said, and he rolled his eyes at me and set off for the Templar quarters.

I should have spoken to him about my dream, but the rapport we have established is still so fragile. He seeks Cullen out for his orders rather than me, but many of the Templars seem to prefer things this way, so I have left it alone. I believe I have gained their respect and their allegiance, but Cullen will always be one of them, and a hero besides. Meanwhile, I will always be a mage, hero status notwithstanding. It is what it is.

But I do not think command structure accounts for the distance that Liam and I have maintained. There is something tentative there between us, so raw and new. I am frightened that bringing up the past will shatter any future we might have. I…suppose that is not something I have admitted to myself up until now.

I want something from him, but I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know how to ask for it—and even if I did, Liam is not the easiest man to communicate with.

He is right about one thing, though: I need to carefully consider the fate of the Inquisition. I have a copy of the Nevarran Accords somewhere, and I think now is the time to examine it, to see if clues from our past can provide insight for our future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK I got another art and I LOVE IT: http://tmblr.co/Z8d2Hy1rrdu5c
> 
> Isn't it super-perfect?
> 
> Also, thanks for the outpouring of love, comments, and kudos, y'all. I have to admit I'm a bit overwhelmed that you remember a story from, like 100 years ago in Internet time!


	3. A New Development

****_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

 

So now the Inquisition is apparently in the business of building tree forts in the Frostback Basin.

I built a tree fort once. I was ten.

If anyone but Harding had asked…but she wants tree forts, so the Inquisition will get tree forts.

I feel we have already committed too many resources to Harding and Josephine’s pet scholar, but we have been able to map out the locations of several powerful rifts in the area, so I suppose it is worth the effort. We must close every single one of those blasted things, and for some reason, Evelyn is interested in the history of the last Inquisitor. She’s spent the last few evenings reading a book on the subject.

I was just signing my approval for supplies to build these…tree houses, when Rylen entered. He drug a chair over, flung himself down in it, and propped his feet up on my desk, directly on top of the map I was using.

“Rough night?” I asked, and shoved his feet off.

“You have no idea,” he sighed, and put his feet back. “The Maker is cruel, he is. You know that cute elven archer in Bull’s Chargers?”

“The one who’s obviously a mage?” I said, tugging the map out from under his boots.

“Well, that’s most of my story ruined,” he complained. “Turns out she can drink more than me, too.”

He leaned back in my chair and closed his eyes. “Cullen, my brother, why are all the lasses I want mages?”

“We both know I am the wrong man for you to be talking to about this,” I informed him.

“Mmm,” he said. “Speaking of which, Knight-Captain Liam drug me out of bed this morning to help with training. That mage of yours showed up.” He opened an eye. ”I know she’s chosen by Andraste and all that, but if you were looking to pass some time under a robe, I could have found you a dozen who are twice as beautiful and about half as batty.”

If any other Templar had said such a thing to me, there would have been trouble.

But Rylen…he was fighting beside me at Adamant Fortress when she fell into the Fade, and he was the one who tried to convince me to go after her in the Arbor Wilds. If anyone knew I wasn’t just passing time with Evelyn, it was Rylen. He knew a lot more about me than he let on.

“Don’t call the Inquisitor ‘that mage,’ Rylen,” I said, my voice mild. “Let me find you something for that headache.” I reached into a drawer and took out the box that contained her phylactery, looking for some of the herbs I knew Evelyn had stashed beneath.

“What’s that?” he asked, squinting at the box. “It’s not…?”

“No, it’s not lyrium,” I said. I pulled a few packets of dried herbs out of the drawer and carefully replaced the box.

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“It’s Evelyn’s phylactery,” I sighed. “She gave it to me.”

“What?” he cried, sat forward in the chair, then grabbed his head. “Ow! Andraste’s flaming asshole!”

“These are good for headaches,” I said patiently, placing the packets of herbs on the desk. “Put them in some hot water. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that particularly colorful piece of blasphemy. So tell me, did you wake up with any new tattoos?”

He sat up more carefully and tried to look into the drawer. I closed it. “Don’t you dare change the subject after showing me _this_ treasure! She got her phylactery back somehow and then she just… _gave_ it to--to _you_? Is she crazy?”

I glared at him. I hadn’t seen him this amused by anything in a long time. Recently, it’s like the desert had dried him out, somehow, but now his eyes were sparkling.

He started to cackle. “Wait—is that—is that how you get married to a mage? Are you married now?”

“That’s not funny. You can go to the Void.” I moved the herbs out of his reach. “Enjoy your headache,” I said.

“Ach, betrayed by my own brother—over a woman,” Rylen mourned.

“Did you want something, Rylen, or are you just here to bother me?” I snapped.

“Can’t it be both?”

I looked at him.

There was a brusque knock on the door and Evelyn walked in. I stood, and Rylen heaved himself up out of his chair and saluted her.

“Inquisitor,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

She cast a critical eye at Rylen, who was swaying slightly.

“Ser Rylen,” she said, “did you get too much sun this morning?”

“A bit of a headache, Your Worship,” he said, glaring at me. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Ah,” she said, and plucked a packet of herbs off my desk. “I see the Commander is already a step ahead of me.”

“The Commander is as considerate as ever,” he intoned. I did not roll my eyes.

She rummaged around the office for some water and a mug, saying, “A headache needs water and rest and tea, not heat and exercise. Make sure you are sleeping the proper amount the night before you train, Rylen,” she instructed. Her ingredients assembled, she propped herself against my desk, smiled at my friend, and idly swirled her finger in the mug until steam began to drift around her hand.

 “You Templars will work yourself to death if nobody is paying attention. I apologize for being so hands-on in my lesson this morning, Ser Rylen. Had I known you were not feeling well, I would have restrained myself.”

“Not a problem, Your Worship,” he muttered.

I raised my eyebrows at her, and she shrugged. “I was demonstrating the use of a sudden shock to break an opponent’s concentration,” she explained, and handed Rylen the mug. He looked at the drink suspiciously, then took a cautious sip.

“Oh, really?” I asked. “Is this the same principle as kicking abominations in the balls?”

Rylen choked on his tea for a moment, then began to cough.

“No,” she said patiently, patting Rylen gently on the back. “I was trying to surprise, not incapacitate. Do try to breathe, Rylen.” She walked over to my bookshelf and began to examine the contents. “I believe the effectiveness of a swift kick to the groin is primarily associated with causing men to bring forth vomit, not hidden demons.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Cullen, do you have a copy of the Nevarran Accords? I thought I had one in my rooms, but I can’t seem to find it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” I grumbled. “Your rooms are a mess.” I went over, took the appropriate book off the shelf, and handed it to her. “Try not to lose it.”

“Thank you!” She took the book, her fingers brushing mine, and beamed at me. When she looks at me like that, it always makes my heart beat a little faster. “I’ll bring it back as soon as I’m done with it.”

“Feel better, Ser Rylen,” she said, and put her hand on his shoulder for a moment as she passed him. “Drink your tea. Inquisitor’s orders.”

He looked at her hand. It was her left, the one with the Anchor. “Err…yes, Your Worship.”

She gave Rylen one last pat and breezed out the door.

“She hit me with the blade of a staff,” he muttered, “right between the shoulders.”

“Ah,” I said. I did not laugh.

Rylen drank his tea and looked thoughtful for a moment, examining one of the packets of herbs on my desk.

“I’ve been back at Skyhold for two weeks,” he said. “I was wondering when you wanted me to head back to Griffon Wing.”

I sat back down at my desk. “I’m not sending you back just yet,” I began, and he looked up in surprise. “You’ve done an exemplary job, Rylen, but we both know that position is brutal. Captain Smythe will be heading up the Keep on a probationary basis for the next few months. I want to see if she’s up to the challenge.”

He nodded, and scrubbed his hands across his face. “I’d argue with you, Cullen, but we both know I’m exhausted. It’s been nothing but darkspawn and sand for months.”

“I know. I will have another assignment for you soon enough, but in the meantime, you can help Knight-Captain Liam with his training if you want to keep yourself busy. Either way,” I added, “watch the drinking, Rylen.”

He nodded. “Of course, Commander.” He downed the last of his tea, and looked at the envelopes on my desk again. “She’s sweet to you, isn’t she?” There was no approval or disapproval in his voice.

“No,” I lied. “Now leave.”

“There are little drawings on these,” he said, holding one up. “Little plants and things. The one I got has a flower.”

I plucked it out of his hand, and squinted at a small sketch of an herb in the corner of the paper. This was a new development. “So there are,” I replied, with what I hoped was a repressive glare.

He stood up and sauntered to the door, where he leaned against the frame for a moment.

“What’s it like?” he asked.

“What’s what like?” I replied, bracing myself for a potentially dirty question about mages.

But instead of saying something inappropriate, he just sort of…gestured vaguely at the empty mug of tea and my bookshelf, like he wasn’t sure he was asking. “You know, being with—” He broke off what he was saying, but I am fairly sure, for once, it was not going to be something obscene or grouchy or disrespectful. He looked uncomfortable and tried to shrug it off.

“Ach, never mind,” he grunted. “Stupid thing to ask.” He drew himself up, gave me a crisp salute, and was out the door before I could question him further.

I worry about Rylen, but I don’t know how to find out what is bothering him. He doesn’t seem to lack for romantic company, so I doubt that is the problem. I suppose if he wants to talk, he will.

The act of writing that statement down makes me realize how untrue it is. Templars do not spontaneously talk about feelings, not even to their friends. Evelyn has certainly had a few things to say about the “correlation” between our inability to talk and the bad dreams we are often plagued with.

I could speak to him, but would he speak to me in return? I think I am approaching this from the standpoint of a friend, and not a commanding officer. As his superior, I owe it to Ser Rylen to ensure he is able to serve the Inquisition to the best of his ability.

I will discuss this privately with Evelyn. I would be lying if I said I did not hope she’d just…take care of it. She is much better at this sort of thing than I am.


	4. Formulating a Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW. So don't take it to work! It probably violates some kind of governmental workplace safety regulation.

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan’s personal journal:_

 

I spent most of yesterday evening reading about the Nevarran Accords. I am familiar with the history of the Circles, of course, but have not had much time to truly examine the primary texts associated with the transition of the first Inquisition into the Seekers of Truth and the Templar Order.

As is often the case, the past and the present bear disturbing similarities. After the first Blight, mages were seen in a much more positive light than they had been in the past. This public support led to the formation of the Circles. The Templars were to protect the mages and continue the Inquisition’s primary goal of hunting demons, abominations, and blood mages, and the Seekers were to ensure the Templars did not abuse their authority.

What happened?

In our time, mages are experiencing unprecedented support, and forming the College of Enchanters. Cassandra works to rebuild the Seekers. But progress will be slow. The Templar Order is disbanded. The Inquisition still exists, but what will be our role in the future? Or one day, will we simply…go home?

Where is home?

Am I simply fated to repeat the mistakes of the past?

I was working to put some of my thoughts on paper when Cullen arrived in my room with a tray of food.

“I was informed that the Inquisitor did not show up to the evening meal,” he told me, and deposited the tray directly on top of my journal. I pushed it out of the way with my pen so I could continue to write, and he pushed it right back.

“Eat,” he commanded, then stood there.

I looked up at him.

“Are you going to lurk there until I eat this?” I asked.

He crossed his arms.

“Fine,” I grumbled, and took a forkful of some sort of pie and stuffed it in my mouth. He gave me a grudging nod and moved away. Probably knows I have an inability to resist a decent pie.

I moved the pie off of my now-smeared notes and continued to record my impressions from the research. About halfway through the pie and another page or two into the journal, I noticed that he was bustling around the room, removing his armor and getting ready for bed.

I put my pen down.

“Oh!” I smiled. “You are staying! You should have told me.” I stood up and hurried over to help him.

I try not to pressure him to spend the night in my rooms, as much as I am tempted to. I enjoy the privacy and the distance my quarters provide from the rest of Skyhold, but that is perhaps part of the problem. I know he likes to be readily accessible in case of emergency, and to be honest, I think he finds my rooms a bit…disorganized. So, sometimes we are here, and sometimes we are there, and sometimes we sleep apart. I am not fond of the last one, but neither of us keeps very fixed schedules. It is what it is, I suppose.

He looked up from unbuckling his breastplate.

“I’m glad to see that I somehow manage to outrank ‘food’ and even ‘a book’ in your list of importance,” he observed.

“You,” I informed him, “are much more interesting than either. Besides, the book will be there tomorrow.” I helped him pull his armor over his head.

“Why are you reading about the Nevarran Accords?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed to remove his greaves and boots. I carried his breastplate to the armor stand and carefully placed it in the proper configuration. He had seemed pleased when I’d requested the stand placed in my rooms, and I think it makes him complain less about the mess if he has a place for his own things.

“I am studying the way the last Inquisition disbanded,” I said, and he looked up in surprise.

“Do you think that is necessary right now?” he asked. “There is still plenty of work for our Inquisition.”

“I know that,” I said, “but I…have a responsibility to plan. The College of Enchanters is beginning to solidify, and if we leave things to happenstance, the past may simply repeat itself.”

“I see,” he replied, and patted the bed next to him. “Come and sit with me.”

“All right,” I said, and perched myself on the mattress.

As always, he was very attractive. I decided I would rather attempt to seduce him than talk about historical accounts. I am, as always, terrible at this, but I had formulated a plan.

The first step was already completed by sheer coincidence: I had changed into one of my more comfortable dressing gowns, so clothing was not as much of a concern. The problem of how to best remove my outfit is still a bit beyond me. Normally I just take off all my clothes and he doesn’t complain, but I still would like to find the manner and sequence for increased seduction.

“I have a theory,” I informed him. “I wish to test something, and I require your help.”

I loosened the robe of my belt for good measure.

“What’s that?” he replied, making an insincere attempt to look like he wasn’t expecting me to say something ridiculous.

I contemplated laying in a seductive position but I really have hit a dead end in my research on the subject. Cassandra has books I could borrow, but I’ve seen some of those illustrations and they are downright ridiculous. So instead I turned to him and folded my hands in my lap, preparing to make my case. “Have you observed that, for what is essentially a very simple act, there appears to be a large amount of variation in the experience of intercourse?”

“Inter—“ he narrowed his eyes at me. “I suppose that means we’re not talking about the Nevarran Accords anymore,” he sighed, and raised an eyebrow. “Evelyn, are you saying that sometimes it’s not very good? Because I certainly haven’t ‘observed’ that.”

“No, no,” I waved my hand at him. “I’m saying that while the act is universally pleasurable, I did not expect each time to feel different from the others. I am interested in examining how small changes in location, emotional state, time of day, and other factors seem to have a role in making the act of passion a unique experience.”

He gave me a flat look. A poor sign. He likes it when my hair is down, so I began to undo my braid, putting my hands up to reach the top. That seemed to capture his attention, so I kept talking to him.

“At any rate, I am also surprised to note that these types of relations, on average, appear to have become more pleasurable and satisfying the longer we have been together. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, yes, I—“ He glanced at my chest, then rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. His skin had taken on a flushed tone. “Maker’s breath, Evelyn, this is—do we really have to talk about this right now?”

“Well,” I continued, “I brought it up because I’m interested in testing out my theory using a particular scenario, now that some time has elapsed.” I leaned closer to him, pressed myself up against his arm, and murmured into his ear. “I was hoping you might consider meeting me by your desk, so I could potentially compare—“

“You’re not getting anywhere near that blasted desk.” He glared at me, then pulled me into his lap and kissed me, hard. I took off my robe and straddled him, and he slid his fingers between my legs while I fumbled with his breeches. After a moment, he batted my hands away and took care of it himself.

“Evelyn?” he ground out, flexing his fingers over my thighs, and breathing sharply through his nose. “Can I…?”

“Oh, yes,” I replied, as I was already quite aroused, and he pulled my hips forward and thrust up into me. He was rather rough, biting my shoulder, rubbing and grinding himself up against me. He grasped one of my hands and pushed it between my legs, and I began to stroke myself.

I felt him stop moving beneath me, then. He was staring at me, eyes narrowed, and I started to feel a little self-conscious. I moved my hand away, but he caught my wrist and pressed it back between us.

He gasped, “Please don’t stop,” so I didn’t.

He seemed to find the sight extremely arousing, and I decided to feel confident again. I rode him slowly, taking my time and enjoying the experience, and when I came, he held very, very still until I collapsed on his chest. Then he grabbed a handful of my hair, bit my shoulder again, and thrust up into me repeatedly. It felt wonderful, and I cried out, and that seemed to send him over the edge. He groaned my name, his whole body tensed and shuddered, and then he lay still beneath me.

“Evelyn,” he managed to say, “I…was that…?”

“Mmm,” I replied, still twitching a little bit. He didn’t finish his sentence.

Eventually, I rolled off him and flopped down on the bed, satisfied and panting. I watched as he removed his trousers and crawled next to me, looking both sexy and absurd wearing just a shirt.

He pulled me up against him and let out a satisfied growl. I smiled at him and felt pleased at my unqualified success. Definitely worth recording in my journal.

“I hope that was…” He looked down at me, then grumbled, “Why are you looking so smug?”

“I am trying to figure out a variety of ways to be seductive,” I informed him.

He put his hand over his face and started to laugh. “Is _that_ what that was?”

“It seemed to be quite effective.” I shrugged. “Not only were you seduced, but as I told you, it was also a unique experience.” I put my head on his chest.

“That _was_ especially…nice, but you tend to make most things a unique experience,” he huffed. Obviously, it was more than “nice,” but his vocabulary appears to be the one thing that shrinks when I talk to him about sex.

“I have to say,” I continued, “I attempted to do some research on optimal seduction techniques, but unfortunately, the literature pertaining to this subject advises laying around in quite ridiculous positions. It is no help at all.”

He moved his hand off of his eyes. “What kind of ridiculous positions are you talking about, exactly?”

I sat up and started to contort my body into one of the allegedly erotic configurations. “I think I am also supposed to ‘wiggle’ but I’m not sure which part—“

He reached out and pulled me back against his chest, exclaiming, “Maker’s breath, Evelyn, that is obscene!”

“Oh, did you like it?” I inquired. “It was rather uncomfortable, but I can do it again sometime. I think I’m also supposed to put my hand--”

“Please don’t,” he shuddered. “Evelyn, why, exactly, are you developing ridiculous theories on how to seduce me?”

I tried to roll away from him, suddenly uncomfortable about this line of questioning. “Oh, that’s not important,” I said casually.

“That,” he said, grabbing my shoulders and holding me in place, “is a lie, and you are a terrible liar. Also,” he peered at my face and grinned, “are you embarrassed?”

“Of course not,” I lied, feeling horribly embarrassed. “And it’s not ridiculous.”

He just looked at me.

I pushed away from him and sat up. “Fine, I will tell you, but don’t complain if you find it to be excessively boring,” I huffed.

“I will attempt to stay awake,” he said, putting his hands behind his head and relaxing back onto a pillow. I consoled myself with the fact that he still looked preposterous with no pants on.

“Two reasons,” I began. “First of all, I enjoy being intimate with you. It makes me feel…happy. Close to you. Less alone. The love I feel for you is not entirely emotional or spiritual, you know, but also physical. You are a very attractive man,” I shrugged. “I am sure other women have attempted to seduce you in the past.”

“If they have, I find I can’t recall,” he purred, taking my hand and stroking my fingers. The light from my palm glowed through his skin a little, but he did not seem to care. “What was the other reason?”

“Based on conversations I’ve overheard, the _vast_ quantities of literature, and the preponderance of brothels in the world; it seems that a desire for sexual novelty and variety is a…fundamental, pressing need for some people.” I looked away. “I have never had a lover before; you know this. What if you get…bored?”

“Oh, Evelyn.” He sat up next to me and pulled me against him. “First of all, I have never been in a brothel.” He thought for a second, then amended his statement. “That’s not true: I have gone into a brothel several times, in the course of Templar investigations. I found the…young ladies…there to be unhelpful. I did not sleep with any of them.”

“What were you investigating in a brothel?” I asked, pulling myself back a bit and attempting to change the subject.

“Don’t change the subject,” he said, pulling me closer again and patting my back. “Second of all, I am not going to get bored with you, ever. You are quite possibly the most…compelling, fascinating woman on Thedas. If you need more evidence, there are legions of people who have joined the Inquisition because of who you are, how you make them feel, what you make them believe is possible.”

“That is true,” I grumbled, “but I don’t want to fuck any of them. Just you.”

He let out a huff of laughter. “That’s…a relief?”

I rested my forehead against his. “Good,” I sighed. “Now take off your shirt. You look absurd.”

He looked down at himself and smiled. “If you want all my clothing gone, you will have to try to seduce me a little more slowly next time,” he said, and wiggled out of the remainder of his clothes.

“I will make a note of that,” I informed him. I lay on his chest for a while and listened to his heart. The lyrium in his system is now only a whisper of what it was, but it is still there, a soft resonance between his body and mine. I know that he still experiences cravings, but the withdrawal symptoms have decreased somewhat. I do not know if they will ever really stop, but they seem to consume less energy when they do happen. It is not ideal, but it is an improvement.

“How was your day?” I asked. “Is Rylen feeling any better?”

He let out a sigh. “I think being stationed at Griffon Wing took more out of him than he thought. He’s been drinking too much, and…something else is wrong, but I’m not sure what. He hasn’t been neglecting his duties, but as it is, I’m not sending him out into the field again until he gets everything resolved.”

“I see,” I replied. “Have you asked him what the problem is?”

“Not exactly,” he sighed again. “Templars don’t…talk about things to each other. It’s different when I talk to you. You listen. Rylen…”

“I understand.” I patted his chest. “I have the same sort of problem with Liam. When I do talk to him, it’s like he barely hears me, and he complains that I’m bothering him. And when I leave him alone…”

“He comes and bothers me,” Cullen complained. “Believe me, I know.”

“Rylen seemed to enjoy participating in the training today,” I told him. “He asked me if I want to spar, so perhaps I will make the time and try to chat with him as well.”

“I’d appreciate that. Just let me know when you plan on meeting up, so I can be there to see you throw him on the ground,” he chuckled, and pulled the blanket up over us both.

We lay quietly for a few more minutes, until his breathing steadied and he fell asleep. I slowly moved onto my back and stared at the ceiling for a long time.

Eventually, he stirred, and rolled on his side to look at me.

“What’s wrong?” he mumbled.

“I need…” I thought for a moment more. “I need a plan. Up until now, the Maker has shown me what I must do, provided me with a path. I felt this uncertainty after I left the Circle, too: I had so much choice, more than ever before, and I was terrified. I’m back there again, except this time, I have an army, and a world full of people depending on me. That’s…a lot of pressure. A lot of responsibility. I need to make the right decision, and I don’t even know what I’m supposed to decide.”

He reached out and pulled me up against him, then slung an arm and a leg over me. “Go to sleep,” he muttered. “I’ll take care of it in the morning.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh you will, will you?”

He placed a sleepy kiss on my hair, and added, “You smell nice.”

I went to sleep.

The next morning, Cullen arose obscenely early, as usual, but he returned later, as I was dressing.

He gave me quick kiss and handed me two letters.

“I thought you might like to see these. They were delivered to Josephine this morning. A report from Scout Harding and a letter from that scholar Josephine’s been sponsoring. They’re both in the Frostback Basin.” He shrugged. “It seems like it might be worth looking into, and at the very least, you can admire the tree houses.”

“Tree houses?” I asked vaguely, most of my attention on the letters.

“Well, tree forts, really,” he added when I had finished reading. “What do you think?”

“Definitely interesting,” I said, rolling the parchment back up. “I think there’s something…useful here, but I will want to go there myself and investigate.”

“Very well,” he nodded. “I’ll begin preparations.”

“Excellent! Thank you!” I gave him a big smile and an even bigger kiss. When I pulled back, he had a rather bemused expression on his face.

“You’re…welcome?” He touched his fingers to his lips for a moment. “What was that for?”

“Taking care of it,” I replied, and went to put on my boots. “You said you would, and I think this is just what I was looking for."

“Oh, well, yes, of course,” he said.

“I’ll see you in the War Room in half an hour?” I asked.

He nodded, and left. I don’t think he had any idea what I was talking about.

 


	5. Until It Isn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should have been attached to the last chapter, so instead: bonus chapter! Happy Friday!

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

 

I passed on the messages from Harding and the Orlesian professor to Evelyn, then went downstairs and waited for her in the War Room. I nodded to Josephine, who was perched in the corner making tiny notes on what looked like an incomprehensibly complicated treaty of some sort.

I leaned against one of the windows and contemplated the map and my goals for the week. Troop placements, agents, open rifts marked on the map. Supplies to be sent to Suledin, Caer Bronach, Griffon Wing Keep. Engineers getting the poisoned well at Griffon Wing functional, so the fortifications will finally be siege-worthy. Upcoming training and inspections. Preparing Evelyn’s party to head into new territory.

Things will be easier when she is gone.

Last night, after we’d made love—best to not think about that while writing in my office or standing around in public places—I almost asked her to marry me again. The last time I brought it up was several months ago, before the end of the war, and the topic was upsetting for her. Such a hard and fast rule: mages do not marry; their children are taken to Chantry orphanages. But now, there is a new Divine, one who was our friend and comrade, and Evelyn is the Inquisitor. Surely…

But I do not want to push. Her pain on the subject is deep-seated and old, and I have enough old pain of my own to realize that there are things inside me that someone can _know_ , but they can never truly _understand._ So I decided to wait for her to bring it up again, and she hasn’t. I will reach into the part of my being where the Templars drilled patience, and I will wait.

She came downstairs bubbling with questions about the Frostback Basin. She is…I feel like I never really have the words to talk about how she makes me feel.

We made plans for her excursion to leave the next day. She will be followed by several platoons of support troops in the subsequent week. Things felt well-organized and under control, and I was pleased.

As I was packing up, Josephine smiled at Evelyn, and said, “You are looking especially lovely today, Inquisitor.”

“Why thank you, Josie!” Evelyn smiled.

I glanced up. She’d braided her hair higher that day, and was looking fresh and pretty in some blue robes. Lately, she has seemed so tired, and it was good to see her back to normal.

“Josephine is right,” I nodded. “That blue color is…nice.” I don’t know why I started to blush, but I did, and it got worse when she gave me a big smile and squeezed my hand in thanks. It will be easier when she is gone, I told myself as she headed out the door.

Josie looked pleased. “I picked that fabric out,” she confided.

“Good,” I grunted. “The dresses Vivienne was trying to cram her into were impractical.”

“Cullen, women don’t want to hear that their outfit looks ‘practical,’” Josephine smiled.

“I said it was nice,” I complained, quickly gathering up my papers and attempting to leave in search of safety. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

I have no idea why I nearly burst into flames upon telling a woman she looks “nice,” when the previous evening, that same woman had been straddling me, completely naked, and…well.

Josephine teases me, but she is gentle, especially since Leliana left. Since then, from time to time, flowers appear on Josie’s desk.

One night, a few weeks ago, I found myself unable to sleep, so instead of disturbing Evelyn, I went for a walk around the courtyard. It was completely empty and dark, when I saw a figure coming through the front gates. The guards would not have allowed a stranger through, so I approached.

It was Blackwall, or Thom Rainier, or whoever he is these days—Evelyn still calls him “Blackwall,” so Blackwall he is, I suppose. Doesn’t matter, really. If she trusts him enough to keep him around instead of sending him to the Grey Wardens right away, that’s good enough for me. I have enough to worry about.

It was an odd sight—a big, bearded, burly man carrying an armful of delicate white flowers, the kind that grow just below the treeline in the Frostbacks. He had to have walked quite some time to find them.

We saw each other, and he paused. His cheeks were red in the cold morning air.

“Commander,” he said, his voice especially gruff.

“Blackwall,” I nodded. I continued on my way, and he on his, and later that morning, Josephine had the same flowers in a vase on her desk. I didn’t tell anyone what I’d seen, not even Evelyn.

I spent enough time wishing for something—someone—I thought I could never have. When Josephine teases me, I let it go.

In contrast, Leliana had been more than a little spiteful with me, until she and the Inquisitor returned from Valence Cathedral, and then…the teasing didn’t stop, but she began to remind me more and more of Mia. And now I miss my sister _and_ Divine Victoria. Mia would laugh to hear their names mentioned in the same breath.

So now it is evening, and I am sitting at my desk thinking about the people I miss. Evelyn has been gone for nearly a week.

Every time she leaves, I think it will be easier. I won’t have to worry about where to sleep. I won’t wonder if she is coming to see me when the door to my office opens. She won’t try to cram tea into me at the first sign of a headache or make me talk about my feelings. I won’t have to go into her messy room, and Rylen won’t bother me about being late for a morning meeting because I “overslept.”

And it _is_ easier when she is gone, less distracting. For the first week. I get a lot of work done. And then the cravings come, and the dreams, and the headaches. And there are never enough letters, and they’re always too short, and I worry about her. And I spend too much time writing stupidity in my journal and not enough time sleeping, but my bed is…cold.

It’s easier, until it isn’t. And then it gets harder and harder, and every time she goes, it’s a little worse than it was the last time.

Enough whining. Tomorrow I will check to see how Liam’s training is coming along, perform a few inspections, check in with the quartermaster, and if I have time, write Mia a letter. Every day, I will have a plan, and soon enough, she will return and I can go back to normal.


	6. A Few Quacking Spiders

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

 

Cullen:

I have arrived in the Frostback Basin, and set about securing the area from a group of aggressive Avvar. I have also closed several very strong rifts. If we accomplish nothing else here, I will be satisfied that I destroyed those things, as they were highly dangerous.

Yesterday, I made observations of a Fade rift that primarily spawned lesser demons called fearlings. Are you familiar with them? Their appearance is subjective based on the observer, and physical contact with them results in manifestations of one’s strongest fears.

I fought some of these previously, before my confrontation with Corypheus, and experienced a strong fear of failure. Now, when I kill these particular demons, they make a terrible, familiar sound, and I am filled with…loss.

The noise it makes…it sounds silly to describe, but once, after I left the Circle, I set a trap and killed a mother duck and some of her adolescent young. One of them survived, and it just…paced at the edge of a lake, making these terrified, lonely sounds while I plucked and cleaned the bodies of its mother and siblings. Liam told me it would fly away, and eventually it did, but I’ll never forget that noise. I don’t know why.

At any rate, I was unable to research these demons further because I killed them quickly, and I can’t say I’m particularly sorry.

Perhaps it is nothing. Now that it is written down, I feel especially ridiculous. I am the Inquisitor, and a few quacking spiders should not be upsetting me.

I will stay here a while longer. I am interested in finding out more about Ameridan and the previous Inquisition. There are so many conflicting accounts and much of it appears inaccurate, altered, or even eradicated for later ideological reasons. Perhaps if we know more about the original goals of the Inquisition, we might also be able to chart a path for the current one. We will see.

The new forts have worked out very well for our camps, but sleeping in the trees is no substitute for a soft bed with you in it. I very much look forward to seeing you again.

Yours always,

 

Evelyn

_[At the bottom of the letter is a detailed drawing of one of the new Inquisition camps, situated amongst the tops of several large trees.]_

_  
_

* * *

 

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

 

Evelyn:

I am glad you arrived safely.

It sounds as if these rifts you have been encountering are strong enough that I am taking the initiative to send you further Inquisition forces now, as agreed upon. To be honest, you will be doing me a bit of a favor—the Blades of Hessarian have been moping around with nothing to do since their last assignment.

Ivor may have started a large bar fight at the Herald’s Rest, and I _may_ have told them that one way or another, they were leaving Skyhold. Obviously, they jumped at the chance to serve the Herald of Andraste again. Our surgeon will be sad to see Ian go, but if things are more dangerous than you previously anticipated, I wouldn’t mind for you to have another healer as well.

Accompanying the Blades is Amund, the Avvar Sky Watcher you recruited in the Fallow Mire. I’ve seen him on the battlements watching the birds the past few days, and yesterday he approached me about travelling to the Frostback Basin with the Blades. He informed me that the Lady of the Skies had sent an ill portent, and it was important for him to join you as soon as possible.

While I obviously place no credibility in his “goddess,” I think having an Avvar who serves the Inquisition could come in handy while you are moving through their territory. Half the time I have no idea what he’s talking about, and he’s one of the friendly ones. He may prove to be a valuable ambassador while you are in the Basin.

Please keep me informed as to your progress.

I wish I had good advice or something smart to say about the memories those demons brought back. I think you know that I am simply not very good at such things. Still, when I find myself dwelling too much on the past, you always tell me that you like who I am now, and it always helps. So: I would take away all the pain in your past if I could, but I also like who you are now.

Take care of yourself. I know you know this, but I'm telling you anyway because it's important: if anything _unusual_ appears in your dreams, I hope you will speak to Cassandra immediately. As always, I miss you, and await your return to Skyhold.

Be safe,

 

Cullen

_  
_

* * *

 

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

 

Cullen:

Finally, some time to write you.

Finished Professor Kenric’s treatise on the last Inquisitor just before my arrival; _Finding Ameridan_ appears to be well-researched, although his subject matter is obviously far beyond my area of expertise. The man himself shared some interesting theories he has on a collection of buckles gathered in the area, and asked me to both establish contact with a potentially friendly Avvar tribe in the area and explore a mysterious island off the coast where he feels there might be further evidence of Ameridan’s presence.

He is the third or fourth child of Starkhaven nobility, and managed to convince his family to allow him to attend the University of Orlais instead of joining the Chantry. My parents would never have allowed me to do such a thing, of course, since I was firstborn, but it sounds like quite a stimulating life, especially compared to one in the Chantry.

I am pleased to find that the morale of Inquisition troops stationed here is high, despite some ongoing skirmishes with Avvar tribesmen calling themselves the Jaws of Hakkon. After the defeat of Corypheus, I had thought that many of our troops would return to their homes and families, but they appear to be convinced of the ongoing value of serving the Inquisition. They seem to be inspired by my presence, and I hope they know that I, too, am inspired by theirs. I must always work to prove myself worthy of their trust and faith in the future.

The Blades have stationed themselves at a river encampment that has been attacked by the Jaws of Hakkon several times. They seem ready and eager for a fight.

Sky Watcher will accompany us when we travel to contact these allegedly friendly Avvar. All in all, the troops you’ve sent have proven useful, and I appreciate their presence, especially after fighting both the hostile Avvar _and_ the hostile wildlife. There are spiders that spit poison, Cullen! It’s disgusting.

I am sending you two items to accompany this letter, both of which made me think of you in different ways. The first is an admittedly romantic and possibly apocryphal poem about a woman it is thought may have been both Ameridan’s lover and a mage. The poem has been banned by the Chantry—Ameridan’s history is so blurry; perhaps in eight hundred years Commander Cullen will have been the Inquisitor and his lover, a lowly mage, will be forgotten entirely. I wonder what our legacy will truly be, but I suppose it doesn't matter. I'm happy to be with you now.

The second is an interesting discovery of Scout Harding’s that I am excited to share with you. Try to start a fire with it and tell me what you think! I believe you will find the results to be worthwhile.

I will keep you abreast of any developments. I hope you are feeling well. I would tell you to stop worrying about me but I know you won't. Remember that things are not so urgent, now, that you cannot take care of yourself.

Yours, always,

 

Evelyn

_[Attached is a meticulously copied poem called “Ameridan and the Mage.” A small pressed flower has been carefully affixed to the bottom of the poem with a drop of wax.]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The full text of "Ameridan and the Mage": http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Ameridan_and_the_Mage


	7. A Love Poem and a Box of Dung

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

 

Evelyn:

Am I mistaken, or did you send me a love poem and a box of…dung? ~~What were you~~

I hope you are feeling better, and it is good to know you feel the mission is at least worthwhile. As it was Josephine who saw fit to sponsor Professor Kenric’s research, I will notify her of your satisfaction.

As to whatever was in that crate, it did prove to be an extremely effective firestarter. It also emitted such a stench that many nobles complained to Josephine, several sent servants to investigate, and one even personally descended from the heights of the great hall to the training fields to speak to me in person about this outrage. In the interests of science, of course, I had to test your mysterious substance several more times under different conditions—rain, wind, during an evening meal—and I found it to work quite well, in fact. I thought you might like it if I gathered as much evidence as possible.

I would not advise that it be used under any circumstances that require stealth. However, in conditions like you encountered on the Storm Coast or Emprise du Lion, it could prove the difference between starting a fire or not, which can sometimes be the line between life and death. I will speak to one of our alchemists about a preparation to make it less…stinky…in its resting state.

So, are you going to tell me what this mysterious firestarter is? It _is_ dung, isn’t it? I'd ask if Varric put you up to it if it hadn't been so effective.

I found the poem and the flower to be very nice. I am sorry that I do not have the words to express myself to you in that sort of way, and I know better than to try. The poem made me miss you very much, and regret that there was ever a time I sought to hide my feelings for you. I think of you constantly, and it is good to know that sometimes you think of me too.

I am ashamed to admit that I have talked to you at length about my family, but your discussion of Professor Kenric’s origins reminds me that I know very little about yours. You speak rarely of your life in Ostwick. You say you are firstborn—do you have siblings?

I am not a scholar like your Professor Kenric, but I don’t think history would dare to forget you. I hope this mission can lend some clarity for the future of the Inquisition. We must never lose sight of our true purpose, which is to protect the innocent, no matter who they might be.

Be safe. That's an order.

 

Cullen

 

* * *

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

 

Cullen:

Wonderful news about the firestarter! I am glad you tested it so thoroughly. It was discovered by Scout Harding, not Varric, but I convinced her that you would be interested in it. She felt that you might not approve of using bogfisher excrement, but I assured her that you would be won over by the results and the potential implications for use in the field. And if you happened to drive away any particularly annoying nobles in the process, well, that’s just a testament to its versatility, isn’t it?

I am glad you liked the poem as well. I miss you terribly. I wish I could tell you the dreams have subsided, but they have not.

This place positively swarms with spirits. I established contact with a group of friendly Avvar, the Stone-Bear tribe, and their people appear to worship the spirits as gods. They have a very personal relationship with these spirit-gods, too—when I first met their augur, a religious leader who is also a mage, he insisted on “introducing” me to a hut full of them. Cassandra was alarmed, but Cole seemed to think they posed no threat, so I said hello very politely and they vanished, apparently satisfied.

I had assumed that sensitive Avvar, including their augurs, were primarily hedge mages, but apparently young Avvar mages receive training from the spirits themselves. The mages protect themselves from demonic possession by _allowing_ themselves to be possessed by friendly teaching spirits, who reside in the village and train generation after generation of mage. When the mage matures, he or she performs a ritual and the spirit departs voluntarily. When I inquired what might happen if the spirit became a demon, the augur assured me that it happened very rarely, but if a mage or their spirit “sickened,” then the community would ensure that the mage would go to sleep one night and then “not wake up.”

“It is very sad,” the augur said, and I agree. For all that they appear to have a closer relationship with spirits here, it still seems that the inevitable fate for a possessed mage is death. Once in my travels, I met a mage from whom a demon had been banished, but I think he almost would rather have died than live with the consequences of what he did while possessed.

But the implications are interesting: if someone is possessed by a spirit, there _are_ ways to force it to leave. The possibility exists. Could this eventually be done with a demon? More specifically, I am familiar with tales of mages forced into possession by blood mages—abominations who had not accepted a deal with a demon, but were coerced into it. It is an interesting possibility. Could the demon be banished?

I have found significant evidence of Ameridan’s presence here, as well as his companions. His lover was, in fact, a mage, an elven Dreamer named Telana. He appears to have been accompanied by one of the very first Templars, Haron. Do you know of him?

All of Ameridan's companions sacrificed their lives so he could complete his mission—but what was the mission? Tomorrow I accompany Professor Kenric and Scout Harding to a Tevinter ruin to investigate further. I will keep you apprised of any important developments, as usual.

I think Kenric is sweet on Harding. Of course his family would not approve, but I would guess that Kenric might be interested in continuing to serve the Inquisition if he has the opportunity to accompany his “Lady Harding.” I may see if I can dream up something useful for him to do.

I can’t tell if she likes this scholar or is just keeping an amused eye on him so he doesn’t fall in a hole while reading a book. He did that, you know. And before you ask, no, even _I’ve_ never done _that._

~~I don’t have any siblings.~~ That’s not fair. I owe you more than that but…I can’t tell you about this in a letter, can’t think about it while I’m out in the field. I hate talking about my family, but I promise I will tell you when next I return to Skyhold.

Yours, always,

 

Evelyn

_[At the bottom of the letter is a quick sketch of a large bear, entitled “Storvacker.”]_

 

* * *

_From Professor Kenric’s personal journal:_

 

The Inquisitor is absolutely smashing. When Ambassador Montilyet assured me that I’d receive the full support of the Inquisition, well, I had no idea that the head of the whole thing would show up. Having _read my book._

_My_ book! As it turns out, Inquisitor Trevelyan is a scholar!

And she keeps such thorough notes for me—they’re all in my field journal; they’re important texts in themselves because they record how _this_ Inquisitor thought and felt, and Maker, will future generations comb my work for clues about _her_? It makes me quite dizzy, honestly.

She’s not what I expected. At first glance, the new Inquisitor is a rather nondescript woman. Brown hair, green eyes, early-to-mid-thirties. Good teeth—didn’t grow up poor, bone structure typical of northern Orlais or Free Marches stock. Surprisingly athletic, especially for a mage, although all Inquisition mages I’ve encountered are significantly less…doughy than the few mages I encountered at the University. The dissolution of the Circles must permit a more active lifestyle.

She has some terribly intimidating scars down across her face, which Lady Harding told me the Inquisitor received while locked in single combat with the darkspawn magister! To live in such times! I’ve heard all sorts of stories about her—part of me wants to ask about the veracity of them all, because she is here, now, a living and breathing piece of history, but my focus is the last Inquisitor, not the current one.

When we visited the island where Telana’s remains lie, the Inquisitor assured me she had taken great pains to not kill anyone at all on or around the site. It was very considerate. There were some unfortunate disturbances on the beach, as I recorded in my field notes, and I might not have helped because I embarrassingly vomited into the ocean when I saw what the sea birds had done to the corpses…but! the house itself was impeccable. For over eight hundred years, the spirits had kept Telana's resting place safe. I get a little teary just thinking about it, to be honest.

The Inquisitor even began to familiarize herself with my primary sources. I heard her talking with Dorian about “Ameridan and the Mage” just the other day.

“It’s absolutely hackneyed and overwrought,” he announced.

“Really?” she said, sounding a bit concerned. “I thought it was rather romantic, even if it is of suspect provenance. I included it in my last letter to Cullen. Do you think he won’t like it?”

“Far be it from me to attest to the Commander’s probably dubious taste in poetry but…did you send that out with the last courier who went to Skyhold?”

“Yes,” she said. “It seemed the most efficient option.”

“The one with the crate full of—what did that adorable little Scout of yours call it? ‘Bogfisher poo?’”

“Yes,” she said patiently. “I think the Commander will be interested in evaluating it as a firestarter.”

“Oh,” he said, an odd expression on his face. “You’ll have to tell me how he felt about your little…presents.”

“Really, Dorian,” she huffed. “I think the man’s smart enough to know the love poem and dung didn’t go together. Besides, he already wrote back. He said he liked them both. He said the poem was nice,” she shrugged, “and found the firestarter to be extremely useful, although under limited circumstances due to the horrible odor it omits. I think he might have an alchemist work on removing some of the stench.”

Lady Harding will be pleased that her proposal has succeeded! She had such doubts, but I believed in her.

Dorian let out a laugh, and bowed deeply to the Inquisitor. “My dear Evelyn, I still maintain that your ear for poetry is terrible, but your taste in men is impeccable. You can tell Commander Cullen I said so. Now, if only there were something we could do about his clothing...”

Their conversation wandered, and so did my attention, but in retrospect, I noticed one small thing.

Her name is Evelyn? I have been so focused on the last Inquisitor that I had not spent much time thinking about who the current one might be: Inquisitor _Evelyn Trevelyan_. She has to be from the Free Marches. Silly of me to have not made the connection.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such a pleasure to see so many comments. Thanks, as always, for the love and support, from both familiar and new faces.
> 
> Maybe no update tomorrow; I think I might be getting sick.


	8. Something a Bit Larger

_A letter from Ambassador Montilyet to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

 

Inquisitor:

Your presence is requested back at Skyhold. As I predicted several months ago, your parents have now grown tired of waiting for you to issue them a summons and have arrived here unannounced. I respectfully informed them that you are urgently needed to close Fade rifts in the Frostback Basin and the Dales, and they respectfully informed me that they will stay at Skyhold until your return.

I was not born yesterday. I tried to think about what Leliana would do, so I had some of our agents break into their rooms and rifle through some papers. It was rather exhilarating, actually!

In short, Lady Trevelyan possesses copies of what appears to be a marriage contract.

I am not worried about these ridiculous machinations—beyond all the other obvious complications, your parents can’t marry you to anyone against your will—but I can’t even imagine what the Commander’s response is going to be when he finds out why they’re here.

Unfortunately, many of our alliances in the Free Marches are built on your status as a noble, and I believe it would damage our reputation if it were seen that your relationship with your parents was not…amicable. It would really be best if you’d return.

Please, just do it as a personal favor for me?

 

Josephine

 

* * *

  _A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Ambassador Montilyet:_

 

Josephine:

~~No.~~  

All right, I’ll do it for _you_ , but not right away.

What has started out as a trip to close some rifts and check in on a scholar we sponsored has turned into something a bit larger.

Currently I am planning on returning to Skyhold soon, for supplies, resource allocation, and additional research, probably in about a week. I’ve attached a list of books that I would like to have available upon my return. If at all possible, I would also request that Frederic of Serault be available to consult with me in person as well.

I’m sorry, Josie, but my parents will have to wait along with everyone else if they want to see me. If you can, try to keep them away from Cullen, my mother especially. I will not have them upsetting him.

 

Evelyn

 

* * *

 

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen, sent along with the letter to Ambassador Montilyet:_

 

Cullen:

Josephine tells me my parents have descended on Skyhold. They’re unpleasant people and I suggest you stay away from them if at all possible. If not possible, please refrain from killing anyone, at least until I get back. She seems to think violence a possibility, and while I think she's being over-dramatic, it has been over twenty years since I’ve seen my parents. They could be even worse than I remember.

There’s something here that I must look into before I return, however.

I am...worried. I assume you have read Scout Harding’s reports on the Jaws of Hakkon, both the current incarnation and the one that existed during the Second Blight. It seems that the historical Jaws of Hakkon bound the Avvar god of battle into the body of a dragon about eight hundred years ago. They thought to send it into Orlais as part of an invasion attempt.

Based on the evidence I have gathered, I now know that it was this dragon that Inquisitor Ameridan left to fight. Emperor Drakon was waging a war against darkspawn coming from the Anderfels; the thought of another horde, another dragon, coming from the Frostbacks, must have been terrifying. This appears to be the _real_ reason Ameridan came here: Drakon asked him to. Whatever occurred, the feared western Avvar invasion never happened and was ultimately forgotten. Ameridan must have been successful.

This is all in the past, but the part that concerns me is that the dragon and Ameridan were never heard from again, _and_ the Stone-Bear tell me that their god has vanished and not been seen in eight hundred years. Could it still be still locked up in the body of an ancient monster?

I have also uncovered evidence that the new Jaws of Hakkon are attempting to summon…something.

I don’t like what this could mean. I am going to investigate another Tevinter fortress tomorrow, and then I will write and tell you of my plans. I promise to be cautious. I just feel like there is some remnant of the past here, but I don’t know what it is, and I'm going to find out.

Yours, always,

 

Evelyn

_[At the bottom of the letter is a sketch of an Avvar man loading fishing nets into a boat.]_

 

* * *

  _A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan_ :

 

Evelyn:

Your last letter worries me. What could have Ameridan left in the Basin? Is what you’re talking about a possible abomination in the body of a dragon or…something else? I am consoled at least slightly by the fact that you have not reported seeing any darkspawn.

I wish you did not have to balance personal considerations along with whatever else is happening. Josephine has informed me that I am not permitted to eject your parents from Skyhold until your return. If it would spare you a moment of distress, I would be more than pleased to do so. I might note that this idea would never have even _occurred_ to me if she hadn't mentioned it, since I avoid all nobility at Skyhold as a matter of course. She must still be worked up over the incident with the firestarter and Lord What's-His-Face. Also, I have not murdered anyone recently, including your parents, but obviously I can handle that for you as well.

In all seriousness, Evelyn, is your relationship with them so poor? I hope we can speak on this further. I know you need to be able to concentrate on your mission, but above all, I also want you to be happy. I know you are well-versed in dealing with problems on your own, but please, let me help. I will carry your burdens if you will only allow me.

Be safe,

 

Cullen


	9. You Run Far Enough and Fast Enough

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

 

Cullen:

As always, it was a great comfort to receive your letter. I miss you, but will leave for home tomorrow.

With the assistance of the Stone-Bear tribe, I am beginning preparations for an assault on an ancient Tevinter fortress. Accordingly, I will be returning to Skyhold for a short period of time to apprise you on the situation. I’d like to arrange for at least a small platoon of fresh Inquisition troops to support us, and speak to you about strategy since attacking a large fortification is not my area of expertise. And Josie needs me to deal with my parents, so there is that as well.

Whatever this possible ancient dragon may be, I don’t think it’s an archdemon, not quite, but it seems that the contemporary Jaws of Hakkon _are_ somehow involved with the creature as well. I will know more when I am inside that fortress.

At any rate, the Stone-Bear are readying themselves. I know that Scout Harding may send you a report, so I should tell you myself: I am recovering from a few cracked and broken ribs after a particularly grueling fight. The Avvar are a large people, and as I was rounding a corner in a ruin, a rather enormous one managed to clip me with a warhammer before I could get my barrier up. I am fine, just a bit fatigued, so don’t worry.

“Fatigued”—honestly, Cullen, I’m exhausted. The Veil is thin in so many places here, and I have been having problems sleeping again. I feel like I’m being watched all the time, even when I rest. The Avvar augur cheerfully informed me that the spirits cluster around me because they can see the Anchor through the Veil. Now I can’t even take a bath without my skin crawling.

I wish Solas were here. Ian has done his best in treating me, and I am healing up more quickly than is natural, but…I wish I had someone to speak to about my dreams. I wish _you_ were here.

I believe I have closed all the rifts in the area, so there should be no more disturbances of that type, at least. As always, the thought of you keeps me strong. When this is done, perhaps we can go back to Ferelden together and spend a few days at the lake, this time without any interruptions.

As I said, I will leave tomorrow. I will only remain for a few days and must focus on the mission, so please keep news of my arrival to only those who need to know. If you need to reach me, send a crow to our first outpost in the Frostbacks, as I will be passing in that direction.

All my love,

 

Evelyn

_[At the bottom of the letter, there is a rough sketch of Scout Harding standing by the gates of a camp, talking to a young man in an ill-advised hat]_

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan, delivered to the first Inquisition outpost in the Frostbacks:_

 

Evelyn:

I am relieved that you will be returning soon. I have been worried.

I have prepared several proposals for assaulting this Tevinter fortress, and will review them with you when you arrive, based on the details Scout Harding has provided in her reports. Rest assured that our troops remain as dedicated as possible and are eager to serve.

As always, when you return to Skyhold, I would be pleased to demonstrate my own unwavering dedication to you in any fashion or…frequency you deem sufficient.

Be safe,

 

Cullen

 

* * *

_A letter from Prince Sebastian Vael, delivered to the same outpost in the Frostbacks:_

 

Dear Varric:

I hope this letter finds you well. The Maker has smiled on the works of the Inquisition, it seems. Despite our previous disagreements, it makes my heart glad to know I had a friend who helped avenge the death of the Divine, and all those we lost at the Conclave and…after.

I wrote you several letters after I received your last, but I know you were dealing with more pressing matters than answering the inquiries of an old friend. It was foolish of me to have attempted to move on Kirkwall, and thereby find myself in opposition to your organization.

I can only assure you that my intelligence was and is good—there _are_ blood mages in Kirkwall, and their number is growing. But yet again, I listened to my anger and not the voice of the Maker. Grand Cleric Elthina would have been disappointed.

In search of a new path, I attended the coronation of Divine Victoria in Val Royeaux some months afterwards, and humbly made my information available to the agents of the Divine. To my surprise, her representatives requested that I travel to Skyhold and offer my services to the Inquisitor. The Divine seems to think that the Inquisitor might find value in my assistance in the near future, so I have made my way to your new home.

Your Ambassador tells me that you will soon return to Skyhold with the Inquisitor. I would very much like to meet her and see the kind of woman whom Andraste has chosen for her Herald.

I’d also like to see you, Varric. For months, I have wondered what really happened. It is not the story I would most like to hear from you, my friend, and I know you will not relish the telling, but please, I must know what happened to her. 

May we all find peace in the Maker’s sight.

 

Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven, etc.

 

* * *

_From Varric Tethras’s story notes on Frostback Frenzy: Avvar Adventures:_

 

Headed back to Skyhold, thank the Maker. The Frostback Basin gives me the creeps. Especially those big thorny vine-trees that Cole says are “locked in battle.” Very slow battle. Trees possessed by demons, that’s terrible, but murder trees creeping up to your door over a period of years? Kind of worse. Don’t know why.

We stopped off at the first Inquisition guard outpost and picked up some letters. My editor usually sends correspondence (bills) to me at Skyhold, so I was surprised to see that there was something for me in there amongst the usual pile of administrative crap the Inquisitor gets.

I looked at who it was from, and I started feeling a little queasy. Sebastian.

I sidled over to the Inquisitor, who was reading a couple of pieces of parchment that looked pretty official. When she saw me approach, she folded them up quickly and shoved the stack under her arm. Her jaw was clenched and she had two big blotches of color on her cheeks. Whatever was in her letters wasn’t all good news, either.

“We got an hour or two left of daylight, Boss,” I told her. “You mind if we camp here? I’m…not feeling so great.”

“That is…perhaps it is for the best,” she sighed. “Let’s just try to get an early start in the morning.”

We set up some tents—the guard post isn’t big enough to bunk everyone—and I holed up for a while to read that letter. So I guess Sebastian's at Skyhold. It feels...wrong.

Don’t know why I’m even bothering to write this down, but I have a bad feeling about it. If the Maker’s providing me with foreshadowing, he’s got poor plotting and a nasty sense of humor.

I’ve always known I was going to go back to Kirkwall. I have friends there, a life. A good tavern—well, good enough for me. I was going go when I was ready, and lately, I’ve been feeling like maybe it’s time. Finish up this last run with the Inquisitor, then head back.

I guess I just wasn’t expecting another piece of Kirkwall to show up at Skyhold. The last time that happened…well. Maybe I was just looking to make more of a clean break than I knew. Keep Before and After a little more separate, that’s all.

I read the letter a couple of times and then left my tent, looking for the Inquisitor. Almost everyone else was relaxing around an outdoor firepit, but she was standing off to the edge of the camp, watching the sun set.

I approached, and she nodded to me. We stood in silence for a few minutes, and then she spoke.

“Varric,” she began, “Have you ever wondered how many of the Inquisition’s spies and scouts are still working for Leliana?”

I shrugged. “Some, maybe even most, if I’m being honest. I don’t see it as a problem yet, but I guess it could be a concern moving forward. We should look into it, though. Why?”

“Some letters from Divine Victoria were delivered for me to this outpost not two hours before we arrived. Someone’s keeping a close eye on our movements. Just something to keep in mind, I suppose.” She sighed. “I will have to talk with Scout Harding, at least.”

“What’s so important that she can’t wait until we’re back at Skyhold?” I asked, ever-so-casually.

"A...number of things, some of them personal, some not." She shot me a look. “I don’t know if this is good or bad news for you, but it appears that the Divine thinks the Inquisition’s presence may be politely requested in Kirkwall in the near future.”

“Kirkwall?” I threw up my hands. “Andraste’s ass, she’s still reading my letters, I just _know_ it. Why is it that I can’t go anywhere because I _want_ to, not because the Divine, or a Seeker, or even the Maker or—or anyone else is…herding me there?”

To my everlasting surprise, she tossed her head back and let out a bark of laughter at the sky. “You’re asking _me_? Oh, Varric, I am sorry to tell you this, but if you’re not careful you’ll become the hero of your own story!”

I crossed my arms across my chest and glared at her. “Not funny, Inquisitor. I know what happens to heroes.”

She turned to me, then, and there was something in her face that made me take a step back. “You think I don’t know, too?” she snapped. “You think I don’t know that they’re going to take everything from me, and then ask for more?”

She looked down at the mark on her hand. It glowed that strange green in the half-light of dusk. “Maker forbid I want something in my life that isn’t based on _this_.”

Whatever it was that had made her so frightening for just that moment was gone, then, and she bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Varric,” she sighed. “I think I need to take a walk.” She headed for the mountain path, past the firepit. Cassandra must have caught a glimpse of Evelyn’s face and stood, but the Inquisitor waved her off and continued on alone.

Cassandra stalked over to me and demanded, “What did you do, Varric?”

“Nothing, Seeker,” I snapped. “She got a letter from the Divine, and I guess it just reminded her, oh, _I don’t know,_ that this world is going to drain her dry one day, and because she is who she is, she's probably going to let it happen. We’ve read this story before, right, _Seeker_? Doesn’t mean she has to be happy about it all the time.”

She glanced in the direction Evelyn had headed. “Maybe I should…”

“Leave her alone,” I sighed. “She’ll come back soon enough. She has to. And she’ll talk when she’s ready.”

“Hmph,” Cassandra said, and turned her back to me, facing the path. I shrugged and went to bed. Nothing to do about it, I suppose.

And me, a hero? I go where I want, when I want. Unless I'm kidnapped, I suppose, but that was just the one time. The Inquisitor's wrong--I'm not main character material.

If she’s _not_ wrong...well, the weather in Antiva is nice. You run far enough and fast enough, and nobody can catch you.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haaay "The Soul has Bandaged Moments" has over 20k hits, which I know is essentially meaningless, but STILL. It had a little under 16k when I published the Epilogue, so thanks to the people who read it when it was all over and done with, as well as the folks who where along for the ride the first time.
> 
> As a present, this is a slightly larger update than I'd planned, but I think the pieces go okay together. Maybe a short hiatus tomorrow since I'm still sick, but that's what I said last time and apparently I LIED.


	10. And Some Man Named Philip

_A note sent from Ambassador Montilyet to Commander Cullen via Skyhold runner:_

 

Cullen:

We’ve received another unannounced guest. I believe he’s friends with Varric, but has asked to speak to you if possible. Could you come to my office as soon as possible? It's best if I can explain in person.

 

Josephine

 

* * *

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

 

Evelyn once told me that I have no patience for nobles, but she was wrong: I downright hate them, and I hate politics. I hate silk gowns, and cosmetics, and lies, and masks.

A day or two ago, we received _another_ uninvited guest from the Free Marches. Josephine requested my presence in her office to debrief me before his arrival, and I had nearly reached my goal when I was neatly intercepted by Lady Trevelyan. I had been introduced to Evelyn’s parents once on their arrival, and had avoided them ever since, but Lady Trevelyan had stationed herself in front of Josephine’s door. I had no choice but to acknowledge her with a nod.

“Oh, Commander,” exclaimed Lady Trevelyan, as I tried to step around her. “What a lucky coincidence! I was hoping to speak to you today about our dear daughter’s return to Skyhold.”

She was a tall woman—taller than Evelyn—and excessively elegant. Beyond a passing similarity to her daughter, she was indistinguishable from any other noblewoman who flitted around Skyhold on any given day. Her modest natural charms were accented with cosmetics, her blonde hair artfully arranged, and her posture altered and body sculpted by Maker-knows-what restrictive garments beneath the silk of what I assumed was a fashionable dress. I disliked her, obviously.

I could not help but compare her to her daughter. Evelyn is so _real_ —somehow sharp and tart, but also soft, all at the same time. Rylen may say he knows dozens of women who are more beautiful, but they’re not _her._

I don’t think her mother even had a stray freckle. Yet another reason to thank Andraste that the woman I love was born a mage. I doused my irritation by thinking about the freckles on Evelyn’s shoulders and neck, and the plans I have for those areas. Sadly, my strategy did not last for long, as Lady Trevelyan seemed to be waiting for a response from me.

“Lady Trevelyan,” I bowed, “an unexpected pleasure. You must excuse me, however, because I have been summoned by the Ambassador, and I would not want to make her wait.”

“I ask only a moment of your time,” she said, and weaseled her arm through mine. I did not like the fact that she was touching me, even though my armor was between us. “Shall we take a quick turn about the garden?” I had no idea how to extricate myself politely from the situation—and her grasp—so I found myself escorting her through the door to the garden. I sent up a silent prayer for a fire or tavern brawl or darkspawn magister or any other pretext for escape.

We were followed at a distance by a drab figure I could only assume is her companion, but I admit I ignored the woman’s presence. Can noblewomen not go anywhere by themselves?

“So beautiful,” Lady Trevelyan mused as we walked along the gravel path, “but such a shame to see the state of the Inquisition’s Chantry. Could it not have been expanded out into this area, to provide solace to those who make the pilgrimage to Skyhold? We must always be sure to pay the appropriate respect to the Maker and Andraste, don’t you think?”

“Of course,” I murmured, “but I believe the Inquisitor designed this garden herself, to celebrate the beauty of the Maker’s work.”

Lady Trevelyan frowned at an ugly mushroom, and I added, “The Inquisition’s healers use the resources of the garden to treat the wounded, as well. Many of these plants are medicinal.” I was quite sure the mushroom in question had no virtues other than being quite poisonous, and had probably been planted by Sera due to its particularly phallic shape.

“Ah,” she said, disapprovingly, “I suppose we all serve the Maker in our own way.”

I grunted an unhelpful acknowledgement. We had traversed nearly the entire garden, and I began to hope that I might escape unscathed, but she sat down on a bench, disturbing the nearby birds, and gestured for me to join her. I remained standing, and she sighed.

“Her Holiness Divine Victoria has begun to enact a variety of reforms,” she purred, looking up at me through her lashes. “While my dear husband and I are worried about the extreme form some of these changes might take, one stands to impact our interests most favorably. Won’t you sit, Commander? You are quite large to be…looming over me.” She laughed delicately and motioned again to the area next to her on the bench.

I put my hands behind my back and tried to look as large as possible. “I prefer to stand, Lady Trevelyan.”

“Yes, well,” she said, clearing her throat. “We hope that Evelyn’s close relationship with the new Divine will pave the way for our daughter to have her inheritance restored to her.” She spread her hands out, almost apologetically. “Evelyn is our only heir, you see. When her…unsuitability became evident, and we…lost our other heir, we resigned ourselves to the estate passing to a rather common individual in the cadet branch of our family.” She sighed slightly. “So you see the delicacy of the current situation.”

“Lady Trevelyan,” I snapped, “I am a soldier, not a courtier or a chevalier. I know nothing of noble inheritance. If you are trying to tell me something, be clear and concise. I am already late to an important meeting with the Ambassador.”

She glared at me, then. “Very well, Commander Cullen. Evelyn must reclaim her position as a noblewoman of the Free Marches, and therefore, she must make a strategic, suitable alliance. A good marriage, to be precise. I would not see her sullied by an unsuitable connection, and we have heard rumors…”

“Rumors?” This was absurd, and I was finished being polite. “You are going to be very busy, my Lady, if you are warning people off based on hearsay. Rumors paired the Inquisitor with a dozen suitors as soon as she took her place as the leader of the Inquisition. She has been romantically linked with…let me think—”

I scratched my face, trying to remember Josephine’s list. I had forgotten to shave that morning, and made a mental note to do so before Evelyn arrived home. “Cassandra, Leliana, myself, Dorian, Mother Giselle, the Lord Seeker, Chancellor Roderick, two barons, three maids, and some man named ‘Philip.’ Of course, Chancellor Roderick died tragically at Haven, and the Inquisitor killed Lord Seeker Lucius herself, so I wouldn’t worry about them. And,” I concluded, “our Ambassador is _reasonably_ sure that Philip doesn’t even exist.”

She began to protest, but I shook my head at her. “Lady Trevelyan,” I said, “your daughter is arguably the most important woman in Thedas. She is currently closing rifts in the Frostback Basin, and will no doubt continue to serve the Inquisition’s goals for some time. The Inquisitor has greater concerns than one small holding in the Free Marches and making a good marriage, if such a thing were even a possibility for a mage.”

She shuddered delicately. “I’m sure all of that unpleasantness can be dealt with by someone else. All we want is for our daughter to come home, Commander. To take her rightful place, the place she was born to.”

I looked at her for a moment, too angry to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “You have no idea who she is now, do you? Or what she does?”

She looked away for a second, then glared up at me. “I see you are going to be difficult, Commander, but it’s what I might have expected from someone of your station. Very well. We shall address this issue in our own way. Can you at least deign to tell me when Evelyn is going to arrive back at Skyhold?”

“The Inquisitor should return in perhaps two or three days, if all goes as planned.” I bowed. “I shall take my leave, Lady Trevelyan. I’m sorry I could not tell you what you wanted to hear.”

She stood, her pale skin gone a bit blotchy. “You have no titles, no family connections. What can you offer? If what we hear is true,” she hissed, “any association you have with Evelyn must end. You—you do not deserve to even _touch_ my daughter.”

I felt as if she’d struck me across the face. I walked away without a word.

I left her there in the garden with her companion, anger warring with regret for having been rude to Evelyn’s mother, but I cannot think of another way that conversation could have gone. I am not giving my lady up over a piece of land or a title: that much is certain. Simple as that.

I hope Evelyn agrees, of course. Perhaps she wants to be a noble? I must admit I am afraid to broach the subject. And marriage…the part of me that is a soldier wants to push, to charge forward bravely, but at the heart of it all, I am worried about damaging what we already have. The future of the Inquisition will dictate _our_ future, and right now, so soon after the end of the war and the beginning of Divine Victoria’s reforms…we are still finding our way.

I made my way back to Josephine’s office, and she greeted me with a concerned expression on her face.

“Commander, I saw you speaking with Lady Trevelyan in the garden. Please, tell me it didn’t go as poorly as expected?” she pleaded.

I shrugged and crossed my arms. “I don’t know what you expected, Josephine. Evidently I am not of high enough station for the daughter she hasn’t bothered herself with for a good twenty years. Lady Trevelyan probably doesn’t even know what the Inquisitor looks like. I am tempted to tell her that Sera’s her long-lost mage child.”

“Cullen, that is too outrageous,” she scolded, but then raised a hand to hide a smile. “Do you think Sera would go along with it?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, still angry and uncomfortable and worried. I hope Evelyn will not be upset with me. Perhaps she seeks to reach some kind of resolution with them, and what I’d just done probably wouldn’t help. But...she had not indicated any kind of affection for them in her letters. She has simply been gone too long--two months!--and I am worrying myself into knots.

“What else did you want to speak to me about?” I asked. “Please tell me it isn’t another prickly noble.”

She sighed and turned over a piece of parchment on her desk. “Unfortunately, I can’t do that. We have another visitor at Skyhold who wants something. Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven has arrived and is asking to meet as soon as possible.”

“Vael? That doesn’t make any sense,” I frowned. “He may have supported us early on, but not after…”

“I know, Commander, but he has been sent by Divine Victoria to ‘assist in any way we deem appropriate.’ He’s known as a deeply religious man, so perhaps he was able to place his politics to the side for more spiritual concerns?”

“Seems unlikely,” I observed. “I met the man a few times in Kirkwall—he was friends with Hawke. Not the most spiritual of leaders, that woman, but he's certainly not a bad or an unreasonable man. And if Leliana sent him…” I tapped my foot for a moment, considering. “I wonder if this has something to do with his decision to invade Kirkwall. Can you make him wait until the Inquisitor and Varric return? I would like to have Varric’s insight, since they were friends. Stall him for just a few days--tell him I’m busy.”

She nodded and made a note on her parchment. “Very well, Commander, I shall do my best.”

I took my leave, but on my way out I noticed something different about her desk.

“Your flowers are gone, Josephine.”

She smiled softly and continued writing without looking up. “Yes, they are, aren’t they? They never last very long.”


	11. Still Alive and Burning

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan’s personal journal:_

 

I am in the Fade.

I stand in a long hallway that stretches forever, tall mirrors set into the wall along one side, large windows on the opposite. The windows look out into the well-manicured gardens of my family’s estate outside of Ostwick. I see a fountain there, my favorite, but it has changed. At the center is a new sculpture: a fantastic creature sits on a rock, her top half that of a woman, her bottom half the tail of a fish. Water drips from her left hand into the fountain, her fingers green with moss and algae, and she gazes down into the pool, as if examining her own reflection.

I walk with my parents, my elven nurse, Anna, trailing a respectful distance behind. They are all very tall, and I look up at my father, looming above my ten-year-old self. I am proud and nervous that they have asked to see me today, for they rarely spend time with me individually, and never together, except at formal meals, and that obviously doesn't count because my sister is there.

Anna has told them that my art lessons have been progressing well, and I am excited to show them my paintings and drawings. I have little aptitude for music, or singing, or dancing, or any of the other ladylike arts. I am desperate to display something for which I have skill, as they disapprove most strongly of excessive reading of books or climbing of trees. Father loves horses, but he says they are not for little girls. I want to learn to ride desperately.

“Anna has told us that you have been…painting in this hallway,” my father begins. He stops, standing very straight, and my mother reaches out and takes his hand. She is squeezing it so tight that her knuckles have turned white.

“Yes, Father,” I respond, attempting to be calm despite my excitement. Noblewomen are not exuberant, or loud, and certainly not excited. “Would you like to see?”

He clears his throat. “Show us what you showed Anna, Evelyn.”

I reach my finger towards the mirror, and trace the shape of an owl with its wings spread, part of our family’s crest. A thin layer of ice forms where I touch the glass, and spreads outward, jagged feathers forming on the bird’s wings and breast, sharp talons and beak in frosty spikes. I wave my hand, then, and a forest begins to grow on the mirrors. I pull up huge frozen ferns that curl beneath graceful, sweeping boughs of leaves. Every inch of it sparkles and glows.

It is so, so beautiful.

“Andraste’s—“ Father says, and my mother makes a choking noise. I turn to see she has buried her face in my father’s shoulder.

He looks down his aristocratic nose at me, and says, “It is the Maker’s will. So be it. Remain here with Anna.” And they both walk away, down the endless hallway of mirrors and windows, until I cannot see them again. They do not look back.

I turn to Anna. “Why didn’t they like it?” I am lost and sad, and…angry?

Interesting. Usually I am not angry at this stage of the dream. Once, long ago, I was angry at the Templars who took me away, yes, but that anger has passed in time.

“Idiots,” she growls. “Blind and ungrateful.” The room grows warm, and the frost on the glass begins to melt.

From the opposite end of the corridor, the Templars approach, their armor glaring in the reflected light from the mirrors. At that moment, my staff is in my hand, and I am my full self again, filled with the power of a mature mage, able to bend the Fade around me if I see fit.

“Burn them before they take you,” Anna whispers. “Stop it before it happens. Nothing good can come of this place. Cleanse it with fire.”

“They were as kind as they could be,” I tell her. “These Templars were not cruel. They gave me honey candy, held my hand.”

“They took you to _that place_. They tortured you, maimed you, stole you away from the life you deserved.”

“Not these people.” I shake my head. “My life now is hard, and full of danger, but it is more wonderful— _I_ am more wonderful—than I would have been if I’d stayed.”

Why is the demon here, then? It must have found a foothold, but where?

Anna hisses, and points out the window. My parents are seated on a bench in the garden, their backs straight, watching the events unfold through the windows.

“T _hey_ left you. _They_ didn’t even say goodbye, and now _they_ come to _your home_ and want something from you. They covet your power. Shall we show it to them, together?”

There is the key change in this dream: the previous anger towards the Templars is gone, but it is stripped away only to reveal a rage even older, still alive and burning.

I feel the anger, anger at my parents. The anger of an abandoned child. I know that I am in danger. A red gash grows on my hand, dripping embers.

I feel heat emanating from my body, and the frost on the mirror begins to melt. It will be gone soon enough, but there is no reason to hasten its disappearance. I have made it, and I will see that it lasts as long as it can.

I shape my rage into a ball of fire, and squeeze my fist around it. It hurts terribly, but I do not scream. I squeeze and squeeze until the fire is extinguished, and the emotion is gone, compacted into a tiny black rock whose jagged, glassy corners cut my hand.

A temporary solution, at best.

The Templars are close now, cautious but not hostile.

“Hello, Lady Evelyn,” one of them says, extending her hand. “My name is Knight-Captain Susanne. Your parents want you to come with us.”

I look at Anna, and I drop the rock to the floor.

I am small again, regarding the Templar with suspicion. “Where are we going?”

“To the Circle. Would you like a piece of candy?” she asks, holding out a tiny bonbon, wrapped in wax paper. It sits in the center of her armored hand.

“Yes, please,” I reply, but I hesitate for a moment. “Do you like my painting?”

The Templar looks at the mirrors. The ice on the mirrors is dripping, the frost nearly vanished, but the shape of the owl is still there.

“It’s…lovely,” she says, sounding a bit surprised. “We should go now.”

“Thank you!” I smile and accept the candy from the Templar, then reach up and take her hand. “All right.”

She visibly relaxes. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Evelyn?”

“Yes, Knight-Captain.”

As she leads me away, I look back, and Anna is standing on a floor littered with sharp volcanic stones.

Flames lick from her mouth as she says, “You’ll be back.”

“I know,” I say.

I awake.

 

Anger in my dream again, clearer than before, easier to analyze. Small consolation.

I had hoped that allowing myself to experience more emotion in my day-to-day life would mean that demonic activity in my dreams would taper off a bit. Previously this was true; unfortunately, incidents with the rage demon have begun to increase since I arrived in the Frostback Basin. Cullen would be very upset if he knew the full extent of things.

And now Skyhold will not provide the respite I had anticipated: my parents are there, and Liam, I suppose. I have dreamed of him—why am I still angry at him, too? He did attempt to apologize. I thought it was resolved, but all this pain seems linked together.

I had very much looked forward to working in the garden and meditating on my dreams in peace, and now it seems there will be no respite for me.

I will avoid my parents if I can, but I do wonder if I should speak to Liam. I hate the idea of even broaching the subject, of revealing myself in that way, but I need to find someone with some insight…

Maker’s breath, I know this method works, but it’s so much harder to give advice to others than it is to apply it to your own life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks to all the Loyal Readers who leave comments and kudos. Thanks to the Loyal Readers who just read, too, and choose not to do those other things. That's also cool. You are all devastatingly attractive and I love you.


	12. Our Priorities are Our Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW. But it's the weekend, so hopefully you're not working.

_A letter on nondescript parchment with a blank wax seal, delivered to Inquisitor Trevelyan at the outpost in the Frostbacks:_

My dear Evelyn:

I hope you will forgive the lack of formality. My new Grand Chancellor is a sweet man but he does get distressed when I don’t send my correspondence through the “proper channels,” meaning, of course, him. Luckily, I have other resources at my disposal.

I will make this letter brief, then, because I know you are on your way back to Skyhold.

It has been four years since the Chantry in Kirkwall was destroyed, and I am considering financing the construction of a new, grand Chantry in its place. It would be an important symbol of unity in confusing times.

In the future, I hope that I may call upon the assistance of the Inquisition. Kirkwall has always been a dangerous place, and anything that is a symbol of unity might find itself in danger from malcontents.

Any tolerance of blood magic will be seen to weaken the new College of Enchanters. When the time comes, I may need you to find it and stamp it out. You will face resistance from the mages, but whether they admit it or not, they need your help. The College is not yet ready to deal with this themselves, and it remains to be seen if they ever really will be.

I will send you a few trustworthy associates to assist you if I can. One is already on his way to Skyhold.

I trust you to handle this situation with your usual finesse. You know the stakes.

As always, I remain

Your friend,

 

L.

 

* * *

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan’s personal journal:_

Journey back to Skyhold relatively uneventful, relatively speaking. Passed the evenings reading Helisma and Minaeve’s research on the impact of Fade rifts on the behavioral patterns of wild animals. I’m particularly interested in seeing their future findings on the migratory patterns of songbirds.

Still sleeping poorly. Those letters from the Divine…neither was unexpected. I overreacted, and must apologize to Varric.

Still, I allowed myself to be cheered somewhat by receipt of a note from Cullen that was rather racy, at least for him. Nobody’s ever written me a dirty letter before!

I was feeling exhausted by the last guard post before Skyhold, so I had a scout ride ahead to make discreet preparations for my arrival: specifically, a bath.

As usual, when apprised of my return, Cullen met us at the gates. It was a relief to see him—as much as I dreaded encountering my parents at Skyhold, this is my home, and he is here too. My heart felt significantly lighter, and some of the trepidation fell away as it occurred to me that I didn’t have to deal with this situation alone.

Unfortunately, he looked a bit stiff and grumpy. I was hoping he’d be happier to see me.

Cullen wrinkled his nose at having to come into proximity to my mount. I can’t quite understand his disgust of the creature—despite its unconventional appearance, the bog unicorn mostly just smells of dried leaves. After our experience losing mounts while fighting Corypheus at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, I find it wise to have a horse with literally no sense of self-preservation: it’s already dead, so it doesn’t run away from anything. And it likes me.

Normally, he lifts me off the horse, but today he just stood there looking awkward and uncomfortable, so I wiggled off on my own. I am getting better at dismounting—or it’s much easier when the horse holds completely still. When I turned, Cullen was looking studiously up at the sky and not at me.

I used to think the pained expression he has when I get on or off a horse was because I am such an inelegant rider; however, Dorian assures me Cullen is simply attempting to not stare at my backside in public. I suppose his theory is about as plausible as mine.

At any rate, I gave Cullen a quick kiss on the cheek, as usual. It made me feel better, so I gave him a second one for good measure. He blushed, and I decided to find out what had transpired in my absence that would cause such a reaction. We had moved far past this hesitancy before I departed.

“It’s wonderful to see you,” I added experimentally, and he blushed even more.

“It’s—I am pleased to see you as well, Inquisitor.” He was looking positively blotchy, and I noted that I we were back to titles again. Unfortunate. If this was the fault of my parents…my past with them needs to be dealt with, but it is between us and does not involve him. I do not want them hurting Cullen in any way.

I handed the horse off to one of Master Dennet’s stable hands and started to walk towards the main keep, rubbing my back and waving my farewells to my companions, who dispersed as normal. Varric hurried into the main hall, presumably to quench his thirst as quickly as possible.

“Why don’t you join me in my quarters, Cullen?” I offered. “I need to take a bath, and while I’m doing that you can explain to me why I’ve just turned back into ‘Inquisitor.’”

I began to walk across the courtyard and he followed alongside, casting me an unreadable glance.

“I was…unsure,” he began. “I wanted to be respectful. Of your wishes,” he added. “Also, I may have…exchanged words with your mother,” he concluded, rubbing the back of his neck. Ah.

“Really?” I smiled. “A fight? Well, I hope you won.” I sighed. “Right now, my wishes are that you will come upstairs with me to my quarters and scrub my back. Would you care to escort me, Ser Knight?” I threaded my arm through his.

He perked up considerably, and even smiled back at me. Better. He is…I am too old to gush in my journal. Suffice to say that he is still very handsome and still makes my heart beat faster. I have been gone for nearly two months, and that is too long to be apart.

“I wanted to thank you for lending me your copy of Helsima’s manuscript for the journey.” I said. We would speak of my other news later, but I wanted to focus on happier subjects, at least for now. “It was quite generous of you to share so I did not have to have another copy made.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “It was fifty pages, Evelyn.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “and really, it was full of a surprising amount of information for such a short monograph. I have to admit, though, that I made extensive annotations on the manuscript you gave me, so I will have to ask the scribes to make you another. The findings were quite exciting, really.”

He patted my hand where it rested on his elbow. “Why don’t you just keep it, and I’ll borrow it when I have time.”

I smiled at him. Such a sweet man, giving me presents.

We walked up the stairs and entered the great hall, and were well on the way to my quarters when I heard Varric calling my name from his usual station at the hearth.

“What could he possibly want?” I sighed.

I turned to see him motioning me over, so I reluctantly altered course and Cullen and I approached. Varric was seated next to an unfamiliar man who stood as I drew near.

He was almost as tall as Cullen, and built along leaner lines. The stranger was almost hard to look at—astonishingly handsome, with a distinctive profile and thick, dark hair, and clad in blinding white and silver armor, polished to an incredible shine. He stepped forward and bowed very low over my hand, staring up at me with the most piercing blue eyes.

“Lady Trevelyan,” he murmured. “It is a pleasure to meet you at long last. Your parents’ description did you little justice.” He had an odd burr in his voice, and I thought for a moment, attempting to place his accent. A slow, confident smile spread across his face, and I realized that he had been holding my hand for an inappropriate amount of time and showed no inclination to let go any time soon. He ignored Cullen completely.

“Three things: First, you’re from Starkhaven,” I noted. “Second, I’m ‘Inquisitor,’ or, if you’re feeling particularly formal, ‘Your Worship.’ In your case, I suggest you use the latter. And third, please let go of my hand. I had it inside of a demon.”

Varric let out a crack of laughter and took a drink of ale. I would have to talk to him later about introducing—or not introducing—me to his guests.

The stranger blinked, and finally released me. “I…beg your pardon?”

“Your accent is from Starkhaven. You sound just like one of my Templars, Ser Rylen. Additionally, you may address me as ‘Inquisitor’ or ‘Your Worship,” as my mother is the only ‘Lady Trevelyan,’ and I claim no title other than the one I have earned. Finally, I can only assume you were holding my hand for so long because you wished to examine the Anchor that allows me to close rifts.” I turned my left hand over and showed him the glowing green spot on my palm. He regarded it nervously, as most people do. I wiggled my fingers at him.

“Additionally, my other hand, the one which you were insisting on holding for quite a long time, was recently covered in the ichor of a demon that took the form of a spider. I closed a small rift today, you see, and I examined the monster after its death. It was quite disgusting, and I was on my way to take a bath.”

I frowned at Varric, who had continued to chuckle. “Varric, are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Of course, Your Inquisitorialness. Must have slipped my mind.” He bowed and gestured to the blinding man, who was beginning to look angry. “May I present Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven? He was a…friend of Hawke’s. Still a friend of mine, if you squint at it just right. Sebastian, Inquisitor Trevelyan and Commander Cullen. You remember Cullen from Kirkwall, I assume.”

“We’ve met,” Cullen said, his face absolutely blank. The last thing he needed were more reminders of Kirkwall; that was certain. So far our new guest had upset Cullen, and his armor was giving me a headache.

“Prince Vael, welcome to Skyhold,” I said, inclining my head formally. “If you need anything, please speak to Varric or Ambassador Montilyet. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been up to my elbows in demon guts, spider poison, and a multitude of types of blood for several weeks now, and I’d like to go take a bath.”

“Inquisitor Trevelyan, Knight-Captain,” he began, his voice throbbing with sincerity, “would it be at all possible for me to speak with you as soon as possible? The Most Holy Divine Victoria has sent me to assist you.”

Varric nodded. “Sebastian sent me a letter in the Frostbacks, but I didn’t get a chance to tell you about it. Divine Victoria seems to think he might have some useful information on Kirkwall.”

“Indeed,” Vael continued, “I wished to speak to the Commander about the situation earlier, but he requested that I wait until Master Tethras and yourself returned from the Frostback Basin. Now that you are here…”

I sighed and tried very hard to not roll my eyes. “Prince Vael, I might remind you that the Nevarran Accords are broken, and the Inquisition serves only the Maker and Andraste, not the Chantry. Our priorities are our own, not that of the Divine, although we do love and revere her.”

The Prince began to speak, but I held up my hand. “The Inquisition is occupied in planning a large military undertaking in the Frostback Basin right now, one I deem to be important as the leader of the Inquisition. I count the Divine among my friends, and I _will_ hear what you have to say, but currently, you are standing between me and a bath. My current priority is to no longer smell like underarm sweat and campfire smoke. I think Leliana would understand. I will have a runner contact you soon. Please excuse me, gentlemen.” I nodded to the Prince and Varric. Vael bowed very low to me, and tried not to look unhappy. He failed.

“Cullen, are you coming?” He nodded silently and followed me through the door to my quarters. I closed the door and sank down on the steps, pressing my fingers to my forehead.

“I…what just happened?” Cullen loomed over me with that expression he gets on his face when I’ve been especially strange. “Are you well?”

“No,” I said, “I’m exhausted and I’ve been having these terrible dreams, and everything’s all jumbled up. And I know Josephine is going to yell at me for being rude to that man, but I just can’t bring myself to care right now.” I looked up at him. “You’re gallant. Carry me up the stairs.”

“That I can do,” he nodded, and picked me up and carried me to my room. He put me on the bed and bustled around, getting my bath ready.

He found a towel and some soap, and started rummaging through a dresser.

“Where’s that salt with the smell? I can’t find anything in your room. I don’t know how you live like this, honestly, Evelyn,” he grumbled.

“You mean with a roof over my head and privacy, things I might note your quarters lack? I don’t know where it is,” I waved my hand in the general direction of the rest of the room, which may or may not have been a terrible mess. “I usually put it over there somewhere.”

He made no comment, but continued to look through the dresser, coming up triumphantly with the bag of salts and a scroll.

“It was inside of a scroll,” he informed me. “Why was it…never mind.”

“Hm? Oh, it’s a recipe I got from Ian. I must have put it in the dresser and forgotten about it.” I looked up at the canopy of the bed and suddenly felt very sad.

“At the Circle, I used to have a chest. It was about this big.” I approximated the measurements with my hands. “I kept my clean robes folded up on one side—I had three—and all my other personal possessions on the other side. I had room for my spellbook and exactly one other book on top, if it wasn’t too thick, and that was it. It’s so different here. All this space…all these _things_.”

He sighed and tossed a handful of salt into the bath, then removed his gloves and placed them neatly on the dresser. “I remember. It took me some time to adjust as well. I still own very little and…it’s only recently that I’ve had any part of my life that…called for privacy. As a Templar I was not taught that I might have something—someone—just for myself.” He shot me a look. “You know I’ve struggled with that.”

Still lying flat on my back, I flopped my arms out. “Well, congratulations, then. You are the great love of a woman who stores her bathing supplies in a scroll. My heart is yours, just for you, if you can find it in this mess. I probably left it under the—“

He was across the room in just an instant and on top of me, pressing me down into the bed, his hands braced on either side of my head. He stared down at me intently.

“You still mean it? You told me once that my lack of title doesn’t bother you, but…”

I squinted my eyes at him. “Cullen, I did not think this was a problem for us. What has happened?”

“It’s…Josephine,” he sighed. “Early in the morning, whenever you’re at Skyhold, Blackwall goes out and picks those little white flowers that grow on the treeline, and puts them on Josie’s desk before she wakes up. So I asked her about them.”

“Ah,” I said. “And she gave you the speech about ‘la splendeur des coeurs perdus.’”

“Well, yes,” he muttered. “They…care for each other, but he’s not good enough for her.”

I frowned at him. “Dearest, Josephine’s priorities are very different from my own. Her life is all about making alliances and leading her family. My life is all about…well, I don’t know what it’s all about these days. Leading the Inquisition and being with you, I suppose.” I shrugged. “My family is here, at Skyhold.”

He looked away.

“Wait.” I felt myself go very still. “What did my mother say to you, exactly?” I asked.

A flush spread across his cheeks. “She said…that I sully you with my association. That I am too common for you. That I…do not deserve to touch you.”

I closed my eyes and for a moment became terribly, dangerously angry. That horrible woman had found his weak spot without even knowing it. I don’t understand it fully, but the act of physical contact between us is very, very important to him. I assume it has something to do with the torture he experienced at the Circle Tower, and his feelings of complicity in the atrocities at Kirkwall. I haven’t asked, primarily because I haven’t needed to—affectionate touch is novel for me as well—but I do know that if I wanted to wound him, all I’d have to do would be to tell him he wasn’t good enough to touch me.

I took several deep, cleansing breaths, and opened my eyes to see Cullen looking at me with a worried expression on his face.

“Evelyn?” he asked. “Are you…?” he trailed off.

He needed me to be calm. I needed myself to be calm. I was calm. Or at least, I was trying.

“I will be well,” I informed him, and tried to remember the words of the appropriate intervention. “I will approach my anger in a firm, logical fashion. I will…ugh. I don’t remember the rest of it.”

I took more deep breaths and suddenly found myself trying not to weep.

“Oh, Maker, Evelyn, I’m sorry,” he said desperately. He rolled off of me and gathered me up into his arms. “Don’t cry,” he pleaded, so of course I immediately began to cry.

I wept for a good long time, my face buried in his shoulder. I felt stupid and hysterical, but it was better than being angry. He patted my back and rocked me back and forth. After a few minutes, I managed to finally stop, and hiccupped an apology.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he murmured into my hair. “I was selfish and insecure.”

“I had no idea,” I sighed, finally starting to feel a bit better. “I didn’t know I was so angry about them until just a few days ago, and now she’s said those things to hurt you…”

“What made you angry?” he asked, continuing to rub my back. “Before now, I mean.”

“They just let me go,” I sighed. “My parents called the Templars even before they’d seen my magic with their own eyes. They didn’t say good-bye; they just sat in the garden and watched me leave. And now they’re back, and trying to ruin things now that I have something they want.”

“It’s odd,” I continued. “For years I dreamed about the Templars taking me away, but never my parents giving me up. I was so frightened and angry after I left, and the rage demon would come, but I never, ever gave in. I wrote about it in my journal, used the other interventions, and it went away. But then last week, it came back and I wasn’t ready. It’s dangerous, Cullen, and I’m scared.”

He had begun to undo my braid, and at the mention of a demon, his hands tightened in my hair.

“Evelyn…”

I shouldn’t have brought it up, knowing it would upset him so. Oddly, having to reassure him reminded me that I _do_ have the situation under control, and I _do_ know how to proceed.

“I will be well, dearest. Just talking to you about it has already helped.” I would speak to him about the rest later, and I would feel better.

“I don’t know what to do to help you,” he confessed. I reached back and pulled my hair from his grasp. “Oh…sorry.”

“Right now, I just want to relax. Help me get undressed? I still need that bath.”

It really was a nice bath. Most of the bruises on my ribs have faded, but his hands were still wonderfully gentle and I admit that I drifted off for a few minutes. Cullen pulled me out of the water, draped me in a robe, and put me to bed.

“Mmm…” I said sleepily, as he sat next to me for a moment and took my hand.

He looked down, running his thumb across my palm. He seems to be the only person I know who is truly unafraid to touch the Anchor. He touches and holds my hand without hesitation, essentially treating it like...it is my hand, not some kind of terrible scar or curse or hole into the Fade. “Did you really have your hand inside of a spider?”

“No,” I sighed. “I just wanted that man to let go of me. He was being rude to you.”

“Oh,” he chuckled. “Evelyn, you do tell the strangest lies.”

“And you _do_ have the nicest smile,” I informed him, still groggy from the bath. “And I _do_ have a bag full of venom glands, but they’re from several days ago. I asked Dorian to give them to Helisma.”

He stood up and backed a few steps away from the bed. “You need to sleep. I should go.”

“Or,” I said, rolling onto my side, “you should stay.”

“I can’t.” He looked away from the bed. “I should…investigate this Prince Vael before you meet with him. I might be able to pry some information out of Varric.”

I let out a sigh and rolled onto my back. So much for my plan, but I was too tired to try anything more seductive than laying on the bed. “I’m fairly certain why he’s here. If you bring me my grimoire, I’ll show you.” I nodded towards my desk, where he’d placed my spellbook as he helped me undress.

When he handed me the tome, I opened it and carefully loosened a piece of parchment attached to the inner cover. There was a small shallow area beneath, deep enough to conceal two pieces of paper. I removed one of them and handed it to him. The other one…I left it there.

“It’s from Leliana,” he frowned, turning it over to look at the seal.

“Divine Victoria, actually,” I sighed again. “She wants me to know the Inquisition may be called to supervise the rebuilding of the Kirkwall Chantry and also investigate for any remnants of blood magic. I have been wondering what our next step as the Inquisition will be, and we now might have it.”

“’Any tolerance of blood magic will be seen to weaken the new College of Enchanters. I may need you to find it and stamp it out. You know the stakes,’” he read aloud. “When did you get this?”

“At the first guardpost in the Frostbacks. There seemed to be no problem in locating me, even while I was on the road. The new Divine still has eyes everywhere. Or she got a report from Scout Harding,” I conceded. “That’s probably more likely. I’ll talk to Harding.”

“Hm,” he considered, turning the letter over in his hands. “Vael said the Divine sent him, so I suppose she thinks he can assist with Kirkwall, even after his failed attempt at invasion. He certainly thinks something is going on there. What could it be, and how does he know?”

“That would be useful to learn. Perhaps Josephine might have some insight? We will have to look into it, and start to firm up diplomatic relations with Kirkwall.”

He nodded. “Indeed.” He hesitated for a moment. “You seemed to dislike the man…why is that?”

“This is difficult to explain. Sit next to me for a moment?” I motioned at the bed, and he complied.

“I am being…difficult,” I admitted. “I don’t like that the Divine thinks she can order us around, and I’m even less happy that she is almost certainly right about Kirkwall. We _should_ go. I’ve just…been in the field and on the road for quite a while, and I’m tired and not thinking clearly. And that makes me stubborn.”

He slid his hand into mine, but remained silent. Clever man.

I sighed. “Also, I wasn’t looking forward to dealing with my parents, but then when Vael mentioned them…my mother is planning something, I’m sure of it. That marriage contract in her rooms—nothing will come of it, but it’s just one more thing to deal with.”

“I see,” he said, looking down at our hands. He touched the ring he’d given me, moving the stone to the very center of my finger. “I was wondering who she thought deserves you instead of me. A prince, then.”

“Cullen, neither one of us ‘deserves’ the other. We’re people, not prizes to be earned or property to be transferred by contract.” I cocked my head at him. “As a matter of fact, I would be worried about being the kind of man who deserves _me_. Dorian pointed out that I simultaneously sent you a love poem and a box of shit, which I told you to light on fire.” He didn’t look up. “The shit, not the poem. I hope you didn’t burn the poem.”

He didn’t laugh.

“At any rate,” I shrugged, “you’re the only man I want to touch me, and I might note that out of the pair of men to whom I have offered that privilege, you’re the only one who took me up on it. I suppose you’re also the only one I haven’t stabbed to death, now that I think of it. Quite a distinction, really.”

He remained silent, and I kept on going. “And, you know, you seem willing to tolerate me. And the way I feel about you…when I think about it, it’s like a flower blooms in my chest, right here,” I held my fist over my heart, and then opened it, spreading my fingers. “Except it’s warm and exciting and not at all what I expected. And now I’m babbling like an idiot and feeling embarrassed so…I’ll stop.” I stopped.

“Oh,” he said again, looking a bit dazed. “I love you too. Can I have my hand back, now?” he asked, tugging at where I was gripping his fingers a bit too hard.

“You aren’t…going to go and strangle anyone, are you?” I inquired.

“No,” he sighed, “and I don’t know why you think I’m always on the verge of murdering people,” he complained.

“All right,” I said, releasing his hand, “but you are looking rather flushed, so please don’t—“

I quite suddenly tumbled backwards and there he was, on top of me, breathing hard through his nose, his armor pushing me down into the mattress. I grabbed his hair and kissed him, fumbling one-handed with his breeches while he applied himself to the significantly easier job of shoving open my robe. I managed to undo his sword belt and kick the weapon off the bed, and finally, with a concerted effort that nearly went awry due to his hands on my breasts, I loosened his pants enough to push them down over his hips.

“Evelyn,” he hissed against my neck, “tell me you want me.”

I told him not only that I wanted him, but offered several suggestions of things I wanted him to do to me. He moaned against my neck.

I grabbed his hand and pushed it between my legs. I was hoping my physical reaction might be additional evidence of my desire for him, and also I wanted him to touch me there, so it really seemed the best course of action.

“Maker’s breath, Evelyn,” he rasped. “You’re…”

He swallowed, and seemed to try to pull himself together for a moment.

 “Tell me…tell me you belong to only me,” he gasped, his rough voice somewhere between a demand and a plea. “Please.”

I looked up at him, ran my hand down his face and along his jaw, giving him the most tender caress I could manage. I think it was acceptable, considering that my range of motion and ability to fully focus were impeded by a large, mostly armored man on top of me, with his hand between my legs.

“Oh, my cabbage,” I smiled at him, “can’t you see? We belong to each other.”

It must have been close enough to what he wanted to hear, because he let out a long sigh—I hadn’t realized he was holding his breath—and slowly slid himself inside of me. It had been too long since we’d last been together, and I lay still for a second, adjusting to the feel of his body and mine. After a few more heartbeats, I became aware of the fact that he was still wearing armor on much of his torso, and I was growing uncomfortably pinched in a place or two.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, stroking his hand through my hair.

“You…are squishing me,” I informed him. “Roll on your back.”

“Andraste’s—I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed, pulling away from me and tugging at his pants. “You don’t—I shouldn’t have—“

“I _said_ , roll on your back,” I snapped, and shoved at his shoulder until he complied.

I straddled him and rode him slowly until I began to gasp and sweat. He grasped my thigh with one hand and eased the other between us, stroking me gently.

“You…you’re so…” he whispered, his fingers digging into my leg. “You have no idea how incredible you feel.”

His words and his touch sent me over the edge. I planted a hand over his shoulder and he thrust up into me hard as I came, lengthening and intensifying the experience to the point where I think I may have hit another, smaller peak.

I was aware that this was something my body might be capable of, but it had never happened before, and I think I exclaimed in surprise. I began to move and twitch involuntarily, and Cullen must have found it very stimulating. His hand spasmed on my thigh, and he pushed himself deep inside of me with one final growl, hard enough to lift me off the bed.

I collapsed on top of him, panting and sweating. I tried to roll away after a while, but he wrapped his arm around my waist and held me still.

“I’m going to make you rust,” I protested. “I’m sweaty.”

“Someone thoughtfully provided me with a rune to prevent oxidation,” he reminded me lazily, trailing his fingers down my back. “And I have had many worse things on this armor than the sweat of the woman I just made love to.”

“Yes, well, I hope you’ve washed it since then. And now I smell like sweat and sex and metal,” I complained, managing to roll off him this time. “I’m going to have to take another bath.”

He moved on his side next to me and pulled up his trousers. “That was different,” he smiled. “You seemed…surprised.”

“Yes, but it was a nice surprise,” I assured him.

Leaning closer, he sniffed the crook of my neck. He was quiet for a moment.

“You smell like me,” he said. “I like it. Stay in bed with me. Let me surprise you again.”

He sat up and started to undo the buckles on his breastplate.

“I…wait, what?” I blurted, blinking very rapidly.

“Help me with this?” he requested, and smiled so sweetly that I of course I assisted him in removing his armor. He bent down to remove his greaves and tug off his boots, then he pulled his doublet and tunic off and relaxed back onto the bed wearing no shirt at all. He grabbed a pillow and propped it beneath his head.

“Uh…” I said. “Are you…don’t you have things to do?”

“I have significantly fewer duties now that we are no longer engaged in an outright war. I had to do four things with the late afternoon,” he informed me. I wonder if he’s noticed that he’s started making lists like this since he’s been with me. “First, meet with Vael and try to discern his motivations. Josephine can handle it. Second, meet with Josephine to discuss the situation with Vael. I’ll send a runner to ask her to put a report together, then we’ll meet tomorrow to compare notes.”

“Third,” he continued, “Ser Rylen is expecting to meet with me. I’ll send him a message too, ask him to deal with anything that comes up. He knows you’ve just returned—Rylen is a smart man. He’ll figure it out. So will everyone else, for that matter.” The thought of this seemed to make him smug, and he smiled. I suppose it’s better than wanting to hide our relationship, but…

“Finally,” he concluded, “I needed to talk to you about troops in the Frostback Basin. We’re both here, and can talk when we feel like it. And right now, I don’t feel like it. We can do it tomorrow, for all I care.”

“This is not characteristic of…” I trailed off.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” I said. “Is this what you meant by surprising me?”

“What? Maker’s breath, Evelyn, I haven’t seen you in almost two months. Can’t a man spend some time relaxing with the woman he loves?”

“You can spend as much time with me as you want, but you were about to leave,” I noted. “Something changed.” I contemplated his self-satisfied expression.

“Oh,” I said, realization dawning.

He rolled his eyes at me, but could not conceal the fact that he had turned rather red.

“You’re jealous,” I announced, then poked him in the side. “You’re being _possessive_.”

“Perhaps,” he looked away, “and perhaps that made me realize that I missed you terribly.”

“I am not a bone to be fought over,” I informed him with another poke. “And I missed you, too. It was awful. Move over.” I poked him one last time, and he shifted over a bit. I lay my head down on his bare chest, and he gave me a cautious look, then wrapped his arm around my waist.

“I would try not to make a habit of jealousy,” I said. “It seems stressful for you. You should just skip to the part where you make love to me and then lie around. Besides, I doubt any more princes will arrive and want to marry me any time soon.”

“Agreed,” he yawned, and pulled the blanket up over both of us. “They had better not, or I really will murder someone.”

We dozed together for a while, then lay in bed and discussed general plans for troop movements in the Frostback Basin. Doing work in such an intimate setting was probably very inappropriate, but I must admit that I enjoy how capable he is at his job, and if he wants to do said job while lounging around naked…perhaps I am a weak woman, but who am I to complain? He made some strategic suggestions I had not considered previously, and I determined the best course of action and, later that evening, sent my request for troops along with Cullen’s note to Ser Rylen. I trust him to take care of it.

As for Kirkwall…my instincts tell me that no good can come of that place, but Leliana is right—I cannot see all of the goodwill towards mages squandered by a bunch of power-hungry idiots. I not will allow my personal disappointment to interfere with the greater good.

I wonder if working with the College of Enchanters in Kirkwall is something that might appeal to Vivienne. She remains with the Inquisition and has not returned to court. Perhaps that life no longer holds the attraction it used to.

I fell asleep rather early and slept through the night. Cullen is also right—I need to take better care of myself, as I am still tired this morning. But what a change, what a relief to have had a night in my own bed, with the man I love, and no dreams at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long chapter. I was going to cut out a lot of the fluff to tighten it up but THEN I DIDN'T.


	13. Everything You Ever Wanted to Know about the Inquisition but Were Afraid to Ask

_From Varric Tethras’s story notes on “Everything You Ever Wanted to Know about the Inquisition but were Afraid to Ask”_

 

~~Sebastian Vael was an intense man.~~ ~~He loved as hard as he hated and~~

~~Clad in armor as pure and shining as his ideals but~~

~~Sebastian Vael’s intense blue eyes captured mine, seething with pass~~

Ah, fuck it. Sebastian was downright _pissed_ at me after he met the Inquisitor.

Set the scene: we get back from the Frostback Basin, I run inside to try to pull Sebastian out of the way, but he’s not having any of it. Evelyn comes in with Cullen, Sebastian tries to charm her, but _she’s_ not having any of it, either. Curly and Choirboy look at each other. Tension. Inquisitor leaves with Cullen, Sebastian thumps his drink on the table and sits down next to me, all surly.

“So rude! Rude to Most Holy, rude to me…!”

“I can’t believe that woman’s parents think I would ever be willing to petition the Divine to marry… _that woman_! Why didn’t you tell me, Varric?” He glared at me. Didn’t think I’d missed the man until he showed up at Skyhold and started seething. When he’s mad, he’s a lot more fun than when he’s feeling holier-than-thou.

But here he was at Skyhold, that usual combination of pissed and pious, and it was good to see him, even after everything.

“Tell you what?" I raised an eyebrow. "I do seem to recall you just showing up here with about two days’ notice. I didn’t even have any idea her parents were trying to pull that sort of shit, and if I did, I’d have told you it’s an incredibly stupid idea.”

“They told me she was a noblewoman. She has an impeccable pedigree despite being a mage, and her parents are devout Andrastians. But the Inquisitor…you didn’t say she was...” He shrugged helplessly.

“Her parents haven’t seen her since she was nine or ten, Choirboy. What they don’t know about that woman could fill a book.” I scratched my face speculatively. “I’ve been considering writing it myself, actually, but nobody would ever believe me.”

“Besides,” I added, “she’s not that bad. She sort of grows on you like moss. First she’s boring you with some theory about the Fade and then you find yourself heavily invested in a conversation about So-and-So’s Demonic Taxonomy. You’ll see.”

“There’s nothing to see—she’s positively drab,” he grumped. “She’s absolutely nothing like…nothing like I hoped,” he finished lamely.

Ah. He wasn’t really here for some lord’s demure daughter. He was looking for a _different_ just-barely-noble noblewoman, a mage, a hero, a savior. I bet he’d hoped she’d have a huge laugh and a nasty temper, drink a bit too much and sometimes need to be helped home, and that, if he were really lucky, her eyes would maybe even be a deep blue, bluer than the blue of the Waking Sea. And the Inquisitor, _she’d_ actually gone to the Circle, played by the Chantry’s rules—maybe she’d be _just_ different enough, too, and this time, it would work.

“No, Sebastian,” I said. “She’s nothing like Hawke.”

“By the Maker,” he said, burying his head in his arms. “What am I even doing here?”

“You know, I was just asking myself that same question,” I said.

I swung back and punched him in the arm, as hard as I could.

“Hey! What was that for?” It had the added benefit of making him sit up again.

“ _That_ was for trying to invade Kirkwall, you nug-humping bastard,” I snapped at him. “What were you thinking?”

“It was…after Adamant Fortress fell and...” he shook his head, “and I heard she was gone. And Anders and his Kirkwall scum, the ones who killed Grand Cleric Elthina…they’re still there, and they don’t deserve to be alive, not when Hawke isn’t.” He smacked his fist against the table. “He never deserved her, _never_ , and look what happened. If she’d only chosen me…” He put his face in his hands.

“Choirboy, she was an apostate mage. You asked her to join the _Chantry_. And chaste marriage is literally one of the most stupid ideas I have ever heard and you _know_ some of the shit I’ve lived through. Hawke? _Chaste_? Really?”

I shook my head. All of those idiots—Anders, Sebastian, Fenris—they’d all wanted her, but they’d wanted her to change, too. Is that really love? Shit, maybe the Marian Hawke I miss wasn’t even the real one, either. I don’t know, and it probably doesn’t matter. Nobody wants to read about that. Maybe I don’t want to write about it. Definitely don’t want to think about it.

“Well,” he sighed, “perhaps the Inquisitor will allow me to assist in Kirkwall, if I show her that my intentions are pure, that I only wish to serve the Maker and the Divine.”

I shrugged. “Last I heard, Kirkwall was run by Viscount Bran and Aveline. We’ve mostly stayed out of the area, minus the part where we helped them turn away an invasion by a stupid Starkhaven noble.”

“You haven’t heard?” He looked up. “It's being said that the Divine wants to rebuild the Chantry in Kirkwall as a symbol of healing. Even Lady Trevelyan said she’d heard rumors of blood mage activity when she visited Kirkwall recently. The Divine sent me here to assist the Inquisition.”

“Her Inquisitorialness doesn’t tell me everything,” I said, taking a careful sip of my drink and neglecting to mention that I already knew most of this, and had guessed the rest. Did he think all my contacts in Kirkwall had reformed or moved to Tantervale or something?

He frowned, then sat up straighter. “I will try to address the issue with Knight-Captain Cullen when he returns. Ambassador Montilyet said he wished to wait until you were back from the Frostback Basin, so maybe I can at least get _something_ out of this terrible day. _He_ will see the virtue in helping the Divine. He was always a good man.”

I took another drink. “I’d plan on talking to Curly tomorrow if I were you.”

“’Curly?’” Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Knight-Captain Cullen? He gets a nickname?”

“People change, _Choirboy_. Kirkwall did a number on all of us. You’ve have seen him stand with us against Meredith in the end, if you hadn’t stormed off in a huff.”

“Perhaps that is for the best, then. If he has…unbent a little, he will definitely be willing to hear my petition. He is a man of faith, after all; he will understand my desire to serve.” He paused, then actually paid attention to something I’d said, for once. “Why don’t you think I could talk to him today?”

“Choirboy, the Inquisitor has been out in the field for nearly two months. We’re not going to see either of them until tomorrow.”

“What?” he blinked.

“Well, Sebastian, when a mage and a Templar love each other very much...” I began.

I’d been saving that one up for ages.

“The Inquisitor—a mage—has _seduced_ a Templar?” He nearly spat his drink out on the table. “Not just any Templar, but _that_ Templar? Cullen? The Knight-Commander was so—does the Divine know? That’s—does the Inquisitor have no respect for a _nything_?”

“You know as well as I do how tempting the forbidden is. Now that I think of it, maybe she _is_ a little bit like Hawke,” I conceded. “Anyway, he’s an _ex_ -Templar. Left the Order when he left Kirkwall and joined up with us.”

And I doubt anyone actively “seduced” anyone else, but I wasn’t going to tell Sebastian that. I still have no idea how it happened, but it must have been those letters they wrote each other. I managed to read a couple of them, though, and they were… _really_ boring. Of course, that’s the basic reason I don’t mess around with epistolary novels—too slow. Besides, readers won’t read past the first chapter if they see it’s in first person. I know _I_ was bored stupid when I read those things.

But without that correspondence, there was just a lot of sad staring on his part for months at a time, and then a lot of rumors, and then some even sadder staring, and then I lost five crowns to Dorian when Curly confessed his love to her in the middle of a battlefield for some reason. I’m never going to live that one down. I had been working on him for ages, had a plan and everything. Luckily I made my money back—and then some—after that game of Wicked Grace.

“And yes, Leliana—Divine Victoria—knew about them ages ago. The woman is a terrible romantic, Choirboy,” I chuckled. I miss Nightingale. We need to replace her as soon as possible, but…some people are just impossible to replace.

“Well, if the Divine approves…a mage and Knight-Captain _Cullen_ , of all people, though,” he let out a weary laugh and rubbed his chin. “Hawke would have loved it, after all his preaching.”

“She laughed her ass off,” I assured him.

“Oh?” Sebastian grinned suddenly. “Was she drunk?”

“She was,” I chuckled. I keep that memory with me, of Hawke with her head thrown back, a tankard in her hand, laughing about the Templar-with-the-biggest-stick-up-his-ass pining away for a half-crazy Circle mage. My best friend, my taller half.

“It was the night before the assault on Adamant Fortress, and I don’t know where she got it, but she stumbles back to my tent holding the biggest—“ I stopped. I still can’t tell that tale. I know how it ends.

“I wish I could have been there,” he sighed.

I patted his shoulder. “No, you don’t, Choirboy.”

Oh, Marian. I still can’t believe our story is over. How can I go back to Kirkwall? It’s all going to be so _shitty_ without you.


	14. The Maker Will Watch over his Faithful, but...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this a bit of a diversion. I should have cut it, but the fact is that I had to do a massive revision and threw out a lot of stuff, so I'm not as far ahead of things as I like to be. It was either send you this little piece of sexy fluff, or have nothin', maybe for the next couple of days. In the past, folks have asked me to show them the sorts of things that get removed, so this is pretty representative. You can skip from the previous chapter to the next one if you so desire.

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

 

After a thankfully peaceful night—no dreams, no disturbances—I awoke an hour or so before dawn. I considered sliding out of bed and finding a free spot on Evelyn’s desk to make a list of the day’s duties, but I didn’t. First of all, I was certain there was not a free spot, and second of all…

For the first time in a long time, she was there, an arm and a leg draped over me, her hair tangled on my chest. All that soft skin, pressed up against me. I touched her wrist, tracing the blue path of a barely visible vein, feeling the beat of her heart under my finger.

When she is close, especially while she sleeps, I still feel the vibration of her magic, her connection to the Fade, but the more time I go without lyrium, the softer it becomes.

I would never tell Evelyn, but the cravings get worse the longer she is away. It’s nothing like it was before—but I think I simply have more quiet time now, time with my own thoughts, time spent wishing for things I must wait for, and things I cannot have. And the dreams…well, they were worse before, I suppose.

Her reserves must have been very low—she slept soundly most of the afternoon and evening, not waking for the evening meal.

I thought about the events of yesterday, and felt…selfish. I made the situation about my own insecurities. Petty, pointless jealousy, and yearning for her when she is gone. Still worried about losing the thing I find most precious. But she’s not a “thing,” is she? And the closest I’ve ever come to losing her was due to my own stupidity.

She says she wants to be with me. If I keep acting like I don’t trust her, pushing her for more and more…I know whatever her parents have brought out has to do with being abandoned: left by them, left by the Templars—Maker, left _twice_ by the closest thing she had to a lover before me—what does she think I’ll do?

Ironic, if she thinks I will leave her, when all I want is for her to stay by my side.

I will have to be better. I will work to contain this. Make her needs the priority, help her overcome her problems. Let her go when she needs to, as long as she needs to, and be supportive when she returns. Maker’s breath, at least try to take off all my clothes before I climb on top of her. That is not what she deserves. I should control myself.

I put my hand over my face and sighed. When I removed it a moment later, her eyes were open.

“Morning.” She reached up and touched her fingers to my temple. “Do you have a headache?”

“No,” I replied. “Just…feeling like an idiot.”

She squinted at me in the darkness. “It’s very early for you to have already done something stupid. But you are a very efficient man, so…tell me what it is?”

I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her up close to me. “You are here. That solves all of my problems.” I rubbed her shoulder. “I want you to tell me what I can do to make this situation with your parents easier. If there’s anything…I want to know.”

She shook her head. “It’s a distraction, nothing more. I need to focus on the problems at hand, get back to the Frostback Basin now that we have a plan. I want to be ready to leave in four or five days, ideally.”

I sat up. “Evelyn, you aren’t thinking of leaving so soon! You’re exhausted, and the state of your armor was deplorable. You said yourself that place seethes with demons. You’ve been having dreams. You need to be at the top of your strength. I have to get my troops ready.” I paused. “ _And_ you’re changing the subject. I asked you about your family.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “A week; your supply chain is already set up so don’t try to use that one on me, either. And I’ll have an evening meal with my parents, and I want you to be there. I know you will hate it, and I know you can’t be on time to save your life, but I need your support. I will at least _try_ to talk to them. Good enough?”

“I won’t hate it,” I protested. She poked me in the side. “What was that for?”

“Lying,” she informed me haughtily. “You want to dine with nobles even less than I do, and we both know it.”

“All right,” I conceded, “I will hate it. But I’ll do it anyway. And at least my lies are not as ridiculous as yours.”

“Your lies are small and unambitious. My lies are so grand and well-crafted that they cannot help but be seen as the truth.”

“Perhaps.” I rolled my eyes. “Or the things you say are constantly so ridiculous that no one can tell the difference when you lie.”

“Exactly.” She looked up at me through her lashes, suddenly so innocent. “Is that a smile, Commander?” she inquired.

“No.” I frowned.

“Are you certain? I think you’re lying.” She ran her fingers down my side, finding an extremely ticklish spot. I inched away from her, then swung my feet over the side of the bed.

“Yes, I’m certain,” I announced, “and if you are in such a hurry to leave Skyhold, then I should get to work, especially since I was…otherwise occupied…yesterday afternoon. I have many things to do.”

She pressed herself against my back and craned her head over my shoulder to examine my face. “That is definitely a smile.”

“Perhaps,” I conceded, and she planted a kiss on my jaw.

She wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her head on my back. I felt a small gust of air as she sighed.

“What’s wrong, Evelyn?” I looked over my shoulder but I couldn’t see her face.

“It’s not even dawn yet. Come back to bed for a few minutes?” Her voice sounded quite small.

“Well,” I pretended to consider her request. How could I say no? I flopped backwards into the bed, squishing her beneath me, and she started to laugh and squirmed her way free. Sometimes I feel as if I am still in the first thrills of an adolescent infatuation, willing to do nearly anything just to make her smile, always thinking about her, unable to keep from touching her. I assumed this part of myself was long dead but…evidently not. She doesn’t seem to mind.

I swung my feet back onto the bed, and she straddled me, planting both her hands on either side of my head. Her hair fell forward and formed a curtain around us. She was so beautiful, and I danced my fingers down her back, feeling soft skin and the knots of her old scars. I wanted to smooth them down, to caress away the old pain, but that is not the nature of scars or pain. Then again, that is what she has done for me.

I sat up a bit, and began to kiss the long gashes that scored down across her chest, still pink and new. She put her hand up to cover them, so I pulled her face down to mine, and kissed the marks on her forehead and cheeks, following the line of each scar down her face.

She took a deep breath, and I pulled her down next to me. I touched her hand, green light seeping around her fingers where she kept it pressed against the marks.

“I know you hate these,” I murmured, “but when I see them…I think…I’m so glad you came back. You fought that monster and you lived. So much of your pain is there on your body, and when I look at you, I think…you are so beautiful. I love you. And without the scars, you wouldn’t be…you.”

I sighed. “I sound like Cole, which means I’m making no sense at all.”

She moved her hand off of her chest, and ran her fingers down the scar by my mouth. “I think I understand.”

I caught her hand. “But also…we’re together now. Neither of us has to face the pain on our own. It took me a long time to realize that—“

“I remember,” she huffed.

“But you have to realize it too. Let me help you. Ask me for help. Talk to me, Evelyn. I know it makes you feel better.”

She let out a long sigh and closed her eyes. “I’ll try. It appears the Maker is forcing me to take some of my own advice.”

“Well,” I smiled, “at least it’s good advice.”

We lay there in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and I enjoyed the easy way she accepts my touch, asks for it, even. I never thought...

She slid her leg over my hip. “I could never forgive myself for not taking advantage of this rare opportunity,” she began. My heart started to beat faster.

“What opportunity is that?” I replied cautiously.

“You,” she informed me, “are in the habit of making love to me with bits and pieces of your armor on. But now you are naked. I like it.”

“Ugh,” I said, and put my hand back over my face.

“Don’t worry. I think the other way is lovely, too, as long as you aren’t crushing or pinching me.”

“Don’t remind me.” I rolled onto my back, away from her. “I have to stop doing that.”

“Why not? It works well when I’m on top,” she said cheerily. I am beginning to think she only has these conversations to torture me. “In the future, perhaps you could bend me over something or—you know what worked well?”

“No.” I had hoped she had forgotten about that. I certainly hadn’t.

“Your desk!” She hadn’t, either.

“No.” I moved my hand and glared at her. She was obviously very pleased with herself.

“You don’t remember…being swept away by passion on that desk?” she wiggled up onto my chest and propped her head on her fist.

“’Swept’—what have you been reading?” I frowned.

“Something by Varric. It isn’t very good.” She continued on, her eyes sparkling. “Since you don’t remember, I’ll show you. You were like this,” she said, squirming up on top of me and planting her hands on either side of my head, “and you are where I was—except spread your legs—and—“

I pushed her off of me and rolled on top of her, and she started to laugh. “There, see, you _do_ remember! Except you had on a lot more clothing, and I was naked.”

Maker, I remembered. I still have to use that desk every day. I dream about it sometimes, when she is gone. And when she’s here. And anytime my mind wanders while I’m behind my desk, really.

I started to kiss my way down her neck. “Mmm,” I grumbled.

“Oh, you still don’t remember?” She attempted to not snicker at me and failed terribly. “Well if you’d like, you can put on your armor and we can sneak over to your office—“

“Evelyn…” I groaned into her neck, trying not to laugh. She laughed, too, and I pushed her down into the mattress, and her laughs turned into sighs. I made love to her like we had all the time we—I—needed, like she wasn’t going to go soon.

But I knew she was leaving, and I covered every inch of her body I could reach with my own, in a futile effort to touch as much of her as possible, to try to keep and hold her there with me, if only for a few moments. In return, she wrapped her legs tight around my waist and pressed my hips down with her hands until I slid inside of her. She sighed, and made a little hum of pleasure, and then…I suppose I lost track of myself for a while. It was…

Why do I even try to write about this? There’s always something missing in my descriptions, things I can write about, but I can’t capture how they make me feel, like the freckles at the very tops of her ears, the sweat that forms on the backs of her knees, the pulse that beats in her throat, the texture of the soft skin under her breasts. The way…something…blooms wherever her fingers touch me. The knowledge that somehow, _I made her feel this way_ , that there’s never been anyone else but me.

Afterwards, she dozed on my chest. I want so much to keep her with me, to tie her soul to mine, as if that would keep her safe, but would it just be another prison? All her life, a little brown bird, beating its wings at a cage—she has given me so much more than anyone else in her life—I cannot lock her up again.

When the sun finally began to rise in earnest, she opened her eyes and reluctantly sat up. She stretched and swung her legs out of bed.

“All right,” she yawned, “busy day. I want to meet with the War Council at midday to have a brief discussion about our first steps for Kirkwall. I think we’ll need to include Varric and Cassandra. Varric has the best connections here, so we’ll have to start using them. It’s going to take time—we can’t just march in there and expect to be welcomed. And the mages are going to need some…herding.”

As she spoke, we both began to dress.

I shook my head. “A show of force will send the message of strength, both to allies and enemies. Kirkwall doesn’t believe in much, but they do understand power.”

“The Inquisition is not an occupying army, Cullen,” she frowned, finishing her braid and tying it off. “Our main goal is to facilitate the rebuilding of the Chantry, and to help establish a College of Enchanters in the city. If we give them the support they need, the College should be able to eventually step in to eradicate any threats from remaining cells of blood mages.” She picked up my breastplate and brought it over to me.

“Evelyn, do you really believe that? Circle-trained mages don’t know what it’s like to truly go up against maleficarum,” I argued. “And I doubt many of them will want to learn. We needthe Inquisition’s Templars, supported by our troops.”

“Arms up,” she ordered, and I complied. She slid the armor over my head and began to tighten the straps a little more vigorously than necessary, then tapped her finger on my chest. “Before you assume what mages do and do not know, you might want to take a close look at what the one lounging around in your bed can do.”

“A fair point,” I acknowledged, “although I wish the mage in question would spend a little more time lounging around in my bed and a little less time fighting blood mages.” She laughed and threw a boot at me.

I caught it, sat on the bed and began to pull both boots on. “Leliana has a blind spot when it comes to mages, Evelyn. She’s naïve if she thinks she can abolish the Templar Order. You trained and traveled with Templars,” I added. “You know that no one is as effective as they are. And your experience with the Templar hunters is the exception, not the rule.”

“Not anymore,” she pointed out. “Thanks to you, the Inquisition has well-trained mixed units and command pairings. And they work together far better than Liam and the hunters and I ever did, to be honest.”

“It’s true, now that I think of it,” I acknowledged. “They were vital to our victory in the Arbor Wilds. Samson still can’t wrap his head around how we got them to work together.” I gave her a small smile.

“But that life, Cullen. What it does to Templars…what it did to you…” She shook her head. “It feels wrong to ask that of anyone.”

“The organization was flawed, it’s true. But it will take Cassandra years to rebuild the Seekers. Even then, the process is lengthy and cannot be achieved by many. If new Templar brothers and sisters are aware of the risks, truly wish to serve the Maker, and if it is possible for them to leave…” I spread my hands in front of myself. “I do not see why becoming a Knight Templar could not be an honorable calling once again.”

“Hm,” she replied. “And if I weren’t a mage, how would you feel if I became a Templar?”

“I would…that’s not the point, Evelyn.” The very thought was…unacceptable, I won’t lie. Perhaps I am a hypocrite.

She sighed. “I need to think about this. We need to start talking to our Templars. Ask them what they envision for their future, if there is no more Order. And…pay special attention to the Templars who serve in the mixed units.” She tapped her finger against her cheek. “We have something important here, but I need to think about it. I’ll talk to Liam. I need to check on him anyway.”

“Understood.” She appreciates the contribution of the Templars, and thinks of their needs. Worries about asking too much. Tried to save the Red Templars when everyone, myself included, thought they were too far gone. It is more than the Chantry ever did for us, and all done by a Circle mage. Sometimes I feel the Maker sent her to me in order to make me question half the things the Templars taught me were true.

“I’ll try to speak to some of the more experienced Senior Enchanters, see what they have to say. All of these pieces, the Circles, the Templars, the Seekers—they’re all broken bits of the last Inquisition. When Ameridan died, it fell apart.” She wrapped her hands around her torso. “I cannot say what our legacy will be but…if we want a new world, we must plan and build, not simply allow it to happen to us.”

She sat next to me and pulled on her boots. I slid my arm around her shoulder.

“I do not know what is right, but I will pray for the Maker’s guidance,” I sighed. And always, always, I pray for her, pray that I will be good enough to deserve her.

She smiled and stood. “Liam always said…’the Maker will watch over his faithful, but keep your sword sharp and tie up your horse.’” Her smile widened, and she grabbed my hand and pulled me up. “And my sword is magic and my horse doesn’t run away. I heard it was your idea to have Liam and Vivienne training some new mixed units.”

“That is true,” I said.

She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek. “And Varric says you don’t have a sense of humor. We’ll meet in the War Room at midday, and I’ll see you again at the evening meal. Don’t—“ she poked me in the shoulder, “be late.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” I acknowledged. “I’ll have the servants take your armor to the undercroft for repairs.”

“A week, Commander,” she reminded me. “Don’t get crafty. I do have other armor.”

“Mmm,” I said. Am I that transparent? No matter. Time to be off.


	15. Searching for Needles in Haystacks

_From Cassandra Pentaghast’s personal journal:_

 

The morning after we returned from the Frostback Basin, I was working above the forge. When I saw Commander Cullen enter, I put my quill down, and stretched my shoulders.

“Stiff already?” he inquired.

“Half an hour of writing these blasted letters and I have knots in my shoulders,” I complained. "It's good to see you, Cullen--I needed a break."

“Have you made no progress?”

I sighed. “It depends on how you might define progress. In the past six months, I have managed to locate three Seekers. Two have at least agreed to make the journey to Skyhold to meet with me, and the third…well, the third is somewhere in Rivain and was involved in the Annulment of the Circle there. He does not seem to approve of my actions in forming the Inquisition, and is not interested in joining ‘heretics.’”

He leaned against the desk. “The new Divine herself comes from the Inquisition. She has obviously sanctioned our activities. Your third Seeker must be seeing heretics everywhere these days.”

“I will keep looking, but I fear I am near to exhausting my leads. If we still had Leliana...but perhaps it is time for me to select an apprentice or two, and begin rebuilding the Seekers myself instead of searching for needles in haystacks.” I shot him a look. Now was as good a time as any. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested, Commander?”

He looked downright shocked. “I—the thought had never occurred to me, Cassandra.”

“You, and many of the other Templars, have the training, the discipline, and most importantly, the faith necessary. Normally, apprentices would begin at a very early age—earlier, even, than Templars, but…” I shrugged. “I find I currently lack the manpower to raise a new generation of Seekers wholesale.”

He was silent, so I continued. “The path to becoming a Seeker can be dangerous, of course, but I have considered this for some time. I hope you will not be offended if I extend the offer to a handful of your more outstanding Templars as well. With the Inquisitor’s approval, of course,” I added. “When I became a Seeker, it took years—I spent nearly twelve months in silent meditation. I have read the Book of Secrets I obtained from Lucius, and it seems that the process can be abbreviated somewhat for certain elite Templars.”

“I have left that life behind me, Cassandra,” he frowned. “You know that.”

I waved my hand at him. “It does not matter that you are no longer a Templar. You are dedicated to the cause of justice, you are firm in your faith in the Maker, and you may have the most willpower of any man I have ever known. I saw this potential in you at Kirkwall, but since then, you have exceeded even my expectations.”

“I…see. You know that my first allegiance is to the Inquisition and…the Inquisitor, Cassandra.”

“Seekers in the past have been very independent,” I noted, gesturing at my letters. “It’s half the reason they’re so hard to find. Do not mistake me—you continue to be exemplary at your position, Cullen. You have been with us since the beginning, and we could have not have accomplished our goals without you at the head of our army.”

“And yet, here we are again,” he observed, “and you are making me yet another offer.”

“Indeed,” I said. “Take your time and consider it.”

“I…will keep it in mind, Cassandra,” he said, glancing away from me. “I would have to speak to the Inquisitor.”

“I know, Commander but…excuse me if I speak out of turn, but it seems as if lately, you have not found your work as rewarding as in the past. If you find that you seek something new, I hope you will consider what I have said.”

He nodded, looking troubled. “Of course.”

“But,” I said, folding my hands together, “you did not come to speak to me of this. What can I do for you?”

“The Inquisitor has requested the War Council meet at midday, and she has specifically asked that you and Varric both join us.”

“Varric…?” I asked. “Very well. I would be pleased to join you then. Thank you for letting me know.”

“I will see you then, Seeker,” he replied. “Please excuse me.”

“Oh, one last thing, Commander?” I called, and he turned. I looked down and shuffled my papers a little, feeling awkward. “The Seekers have no particular restrictions on…romantic relationships, as long as the Seeker’s dedication to truth and justice is not imperiled. When I was younger, I traveled for a time with a mage. He was a good man, and he was very...special to me, but he eventually had to return to his Circle. He…died at the Conclave.”

“I see. I am sorry, Cassandra.”

“It was a long time ago. The Seekers’ path to serve the Maker can be difficult, but it does not necessarily have to be lonely.” I cleared my throat. “At any rate, I am sure you are very busy, and I am keeping from you duties. I will see you at midday?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, and departed. I could not read his face.

I hope that I did not overstep my bounds, but I have observed that Cullen is increasingly unhappy during the Inquisitor’s absences. Things are changing, and we are all working out what our role must be in the new world we have formed. I am still uneasy about Leliana’s—Divine Victoria’s—decisions, but she does believe in the Chantry, and perhaps her vision for our future really will have the results she envisions.

The Inquisitor and I have spoken already about the new College of Enchanters, as it is in its formative stages. I fear that my new Seeker order will be too weak to aid the College for some time, and I hope that they will be able to stand without our assistance until then.

I do wonder what will happen to the bulk of the Inquisition’s Templars, and if the order itself will truly die now that Divine Victoria has permitted the mages to rule themselves. It seems a grand idea but…the Templars existed because there was a need for them, and that need has not necessarily vanished.

There will always be people who seek power and domination over others. I wonder how this new College plans on handling such individuals.

On a personal note, I hope this meeting does not run long. I promised Cole we would take a walk together this afternoon. Somehow, I find his presence calming after a frustrating day of writing these blasted letters. Recently we have taken to walking outside of Skyhold. We look for herbs and rabbits together, and he enjoys it when I read to him. I am admittedly more than happy to comply, since I’ve gotten a copy of a new serial that looks to be particularly exciting. I prefer to share it with him away from prying dwarven eyes.


	16. Skyhold: Intrigue in the Inqusition

_From Varric Tethras’s story notes on “Skyhold: Intrigue in the Inquisition:”_

 

Andraste's ass, after years of writing, how could my titles possibly be getting _worse?_

So, a dinner party. My editor’s been pushing me to write one of those comedy-of-manners stories, about noblewomen who have nothing better to do than look for husbands for their stupid daughters, have affairs, and insult each other. I’ve been considering something with a bit more of an action twist, with an ambitious, power-hungry villainess, but I put it down after Vivienne started spending hours dictating tedious details of outfits to me over the campfire. Opals, my ass.

Josephine was overjoyed at the prospect of organizing such an event—and probably equally as thrilled at the idea of getting rid of Lord and Lady Trevelyan when it was over. She wanted to give them the opportunity to meet the author of _Hard in Hightown_ , and I was more than happy to take her up on the offer of a fancy meal. They get the pleasure of my company, I get to observe as the drama unfolds.

I’ll ruin it from the beginning, though: nobody courted me. I’m not engaged, nobody challenged anybody to a duel for my affections, and _worst of all_ , nobody delivered any crushing setdowns to anyone else.

We were milling around a minute or two, waiting for Evelyn to show up so we could sit down, and I happened to overhear the Trevelyans chatting with Vivienne.

“I understand you are originally from the Free Marches, Madame Vivienne,” began Lady Trevelyan. “I myself recently returned from a trip to Kirkwall.”

“I was once at the Ostwick Circle of Magi, yes, but I have not been to the Free Marches in simply ages, Lady Trevelyan,” Vivienne smiled. “I find my tastes run more to the Imperial Court at Val Royeaux, and I have called it my home for many years. If you wish to discuss Kirkwall, the man you want to meet is Master Tethras.” She scanned the room, then spotted me and languidly waved me over. Blast.

“Lord Alphonse Trevelyan and Lady Alane Trevelyan, may I present Master Varric Tethras, head of Noble House Tethras and Deshyr of Kirkwall to the Dwarven Merchants’ Guild,” she smiled. Her teeth are very pointy.

“Master Tethras, such a pleasure,” Lady Trevelyan nodded. Odd to look at her. She resembled the Inquisitor, except older and less…sharp…around the eyes. Not much going on in there. “Your name is familiar. You are…” She leaned back for a moment to allow her lady-in-waiting to whisper into her ear. “You are an author, yes?”

“Indeed,” I nodded politely. “I am known for the book _Hard in Hightown_. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?” Of course they’ve heard of it. The Avvar had heard of it, and they don’t even read.

“I’m sorry,” she simpered, “I’ve never heard of it. But Alphonse and I primarily read devotional texts, of course.” She patted her husband’s arm and he frowned down at me in disapproval.

“Indeed,” he said.

“I…understand that you both recently travelled to Kirkwall, Lord Trevelyan,” I attempted.

“Alane went,” he grunted. “I was home until she got it in her head to come here.”

She patted her husband’s arm yet again. “My Alphonse does humor me. I was in Kirkwall to look into the building of the new Chantry, of course.” She shuddered. “There is little other reason to visit that place. But our family has tithed great sums to see the Chantry restored and all that nasty business put behind us.”

These were the Inquisitor’s parents? Her mother was an idiot and her father nearly mute. If she hadn’t looked like both of them, I would have assumed they’d had found her abandoned on the doorstep of a university and stolen her away from her fated life as a librarian.

Just then, Lady Trevelyan exclaimed, “Sebastian!” and floated across the hall to meet my friend, who had just entered and was looking as shiny-white and pure as ever. Poor man. He was so polite, he was never going to escape.

Lord Trevelan looked at me. “You hunt?” he asked.

“Uh, yes, I suppose so,” I replied.

“What?” he snapped.

“Excuse me?” Was he _deaf_ , too?

“What do you hunt,” he said, speaking a bit more slowly and louder than I think I deserved.

“Oh, you know, wolves, bears, Tevinter magisters, darkspawn, the occasional dragon,” I replied, as bland as possible.

His eyes lit up. “Dragons, you say? You hunt dragons with Ev—the Inquisitor?”

“From time to time,” I drawled. I failed to mention the part where I hate going up against those blasted things. “She has a suit of armor or two made out of the scales, and a couple skulls downstairs if you want to see them after dinner. Plus the throne down there,” I pointed with my chin, “but between you and me, it’s not very comfortable. Teeth make terrible arm rests.”

“Truly?” he exclaimed. “I assumed it was a fake. They always are, you know.”

“That scaly bastard she turned into a chair nearly shocked me to death. We were out by Crestwood…”

After I finished my story, and he finished chuckling (!), he let out a deep sigh.

“Evelyn always wanted to go hunting with me. But I was waiting for a son and her mother didn’t want her running wild. Wanted her to make a good marriage, that sort of thing. Still wants her to make a good marriage,” he grunted, “which is the most recent foolish idea she’s had in a lifetime of foolish ideas. But I let her talk me into it because I wanted to see my daughter, and here we are.”

He paused. I let him talk, because he obviously wanted to, and I find people are often just looking for an excuse to unburden themselves. Very helpful in my line of work, really.

“You have much family, Tethras?” he inquired. I won’t deny that I do love to talk about myself, too—except for that. Knowing my luck, he’d find a way to ask me about Bianca next.

“A brother,” I grunted. “He was a real bastard.”

“Was?”

“He’s dead.”

“You miss him?”

I scratched my beard. “I suppose so.”

“Family.” He looked at me very intently for a moment. “When they came for both my children, I thought I’d displeased the Maker, somehow. All our plans, ruined. Magic ruins everything, I thought. Curses an entire bloodline.”

His…children?

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have questioned the Maker’s plan. My _child_ , the Herald of Andraste, saved us all, and I thought she was a _curse_.”

What had started out as a desire to get a little gossip and origin story for the Inquisitor had turned more uncomfortable. Every time I find something new about the Evelyn’s past, the more unpleasant the picture becomes. I try to get her talk to me about it, but it seems like she mostly confides in Cassandra. I wonder if the Seeker stabbed that book about herbs Evelyn loves.

Back at the beginning, the Inquisitor started off telling me jokes about mages and Templars in ill-fated romances, then at the Temple of Mythal, there was that Knight so far gone on red lyrium I’m sure he didn’t even know his own name. He picked her up by the throat and looked at her, and said her name like he it pulled straight out of his guts, like “Evelyn” was all there was left of who he used to be. And then she stabbed him to death so he wouldn’t strangle her.

I worked on the Ostwick Templars for weeks before one of them finally told me that the poor bastard—his name was Robin—had known her from the Circle. I’ve told myself that I haven’t asked her about it because the real story is already glaringly obvious, but who am I fooling? Maybe I don’t want to hear it. Some stories don’t improve with a retelling.

Varric Tethras’s Incredible Insight of the Day: mages have rough lives. Too much power, too much tragedy for an ordinary person to handle sometimes, I think.

Now that I think about it—what Lord Trevelyan said about magic being a curse—I remember the exact moment when things started to change for Hawke. When _he_ changed her.

He’d looked her in the eye and spat, “What does magic touch that it doesn’t spoil?”

She’d shown up at the Hanged Man the afternoon after he said that and started drinking. Drank all day, none of the jokes or smiles. Told me what else happened with Fenris that night before, how he’d left her feeling…spoiled. She passed out in my room and threw up on the bed, then got up the next day and it was back to business as usual. But the jokes and the smiles weren’t the same after that, and she turned into the Champion, hard and decisive. Making the decisions nobody else would. All that hero shit.

Years later, one evening after Hawke and Anders went back home to the estate together, Fenris had the audacity to sit in _my_ tavern and say the _same_ blasted thing to me again.

“ _Magic_ didn’t spoil that, Fenris,” I spat back at him. “ _You_ did.”

I left that part out of the book. Don’t know why I’m thinking of it now. Guess I hope magic doesn't spoil things for Evelyn, that's all.

Her father was still staring at the throne. “Look at this place.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I’m out of my league. I’m no diplomat. I thought I’d show up and ask the Herald of Andraste to go hunting with me. That was my plan.”

“She’s not an unreasonable woman,” I pointed out. “Have you asked?”

“I was going to, but…my wife’s half mad, gets fixated on things. Alane cornered the Commander and insulted him, and now I’m thinking I should have just stayed home and gone hunting. Or come by myself, but Alane gets into trouble when she’s left alone. I should never have let her go to Kirkwall by herself. She came back with all sorts of crazy ideas in her head.”

I admit it, I felt sorry for the guy. Simple country noble trying to patch up twenty years of estrangement with his daughter. I wonder if he’d bought her a laughably small pony with a bow on it.

“Look,” I said, “Lemme see what I can do.” Varric Tethras, soft touch. “But in the meantime, no more talk about getting the Inquisitor married. For one thing, it’s just…impossible.”

“By the Maker,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “I had no idea Alane was talking to that man until it was far too late. I’ll try—“

We were interrupted when the door to the great hall swung open and the Inquisitor strode in. A quick round through the crowd, greeting everyone, then she paused in front of us.

“Lord Trevelyan,” she acknowledged him with a small nod. “I hope you have been enjoying your time at Skyhold. Have you visited the stables?”

His eyes lit up, and he bowed. “Your Worship,” he began, “I was—“

“Darling!” trilled a feminine voice. We all winced. “You must allow me to introduce you to Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven!”

Lady Trevelyan was barreling towards us like a Qunari dreadnaught, a livid Sebastian in tow. I saw Evelyn’s spine stiffen, but then Josephine clapped her hands and announced that the first course was to be served. Evelyn dodged out of the way and headed towards her chair.

So there we were, me, Iron Lady, the Trevelyans, Ruffles, Choirboy, Her Inquisitorialness and…an empty chair. And Lady Trevelyan’s lady-in-waiting or handmaiden or whatever she is, who might as well have been an empty chair. Sitting right next to me. The joy of assigned seating.

As the servants began to bring out the first course, some kind of lumpy slime on a tiny puffy pastry, the door opened again. The Inquisitor’s face lit up when Cullen walked through the door. He approached and spoke briefly in a low voice to her, and she stood.

“Please excuse me; I must attend to Inquisition business. Please continue with your meal,” she said, and walked to the corner of the hall with the Commander. They spoke for a few minutes while we all pretended to eat and unsuccessfully attempted to eavesdrop. She had her arms across her chest and was frowning, and he didn’t look much happier. After a bit of conversation, she nodded and approached the table.

“I apologize for the interruption,” she said, standing at the head of the table, “but I find myself called away by a possible emergency. Madame Vivienne, Varric, I’ll keep you posted if I need anything."

"Please,” she bowed slightly, “enjoy your meal. I must leave to make preparations.” And off she went into the courtyard, leaving us all feeling a bit awkward.

I’ll say this—Vivienne scares the crap out of me sometimes, but she certainly did salvage that dinner party. She shared some not-quite-scandalous gossip, got me to tell some stories, kept the conversation positively sparkling, and really just charmed everyone’s pants off. I didn’t even notice the lack of crushing setdowns until I was nursing a hangover the next morning.

I got lots of great notes for my upcoming story. I know how dangerous the Iron Lady is, but it really was interesting to see her in her element. The ball at the Winter Palace had been the Game at its height, but here, I got to observe her in a more intimate setting and she was absolutely charming.  Still a shark, of course, but a nice one. Until it delivers you a crushing setdown, bites your leg off, and you bleed to death. And then it eats you.

Will try to find out what the Inquisitor is up to tomorrow, see if I can put in a good word for the father. Seems like a decent guy, which is more than I could ever say for Bartrand.


	17. Cutting a Knot Instead of Gently Untangling It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains some roundabout descriptions of violence & blood.

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

 

As soon as I got the news from Rylen, I headed to the great hall to fetch Evelyn myself, not trusting a messenger to relay the information. When I stepped inside, every eye at the banquet table turned towards me. Evelyn looked glum, but her face lit up when she saw me. There was an empty chair to her right, and I felt a momentary flash of guilt. She must have thought I’d forgotten.

I pushed the feeling aside and approached.

“I’m sorry, Inquisitor, but there is a problem. May I speak to you briefly?” I murmured in her ear.

She excused herself and accompanied me to the other side of the hall.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice lowered.

“There’s…something you need to see. Down in the cells.” I looked away. I didn’t want her to see it but...I needed her there.

“Is it Samson?” Her eyes were sharp.

“No.” I lowered my voice even further. “Blood magic.”

She bit her lip. “All right. Give me a minute.”

She quickly excused herself from the banquet, grabbing a piece of fruit on her way out. I felt guilty again for interrupting her meal, but perhaps it was a small mercy. Sometimes it’s best not to eat when investigating evidence of blood magic.

“Does anyone else know about this yet?” she asked as we crossed the courtyard. I noticed she was nearly jogging to keep up with my longer strides, and I forced myself to slow somewhat.

“One of the Templars went down to take Samson his evening meal and discovered it,” I told her. “Thank the Maker, she had the sense to fetch Rylen immediately, and he sent for me. I came by on my way down there—I haven’t seen it yet. If just Templars handle this, it could go very bad, very fast, so I went looking for the most trustworthy mage I could think of. One with knowledge of maleficarum.”

We reached the door in the courtyard and I glanced at her. “That’s you. Let’s get a guard here.”

She nodded her agreement, so I found two soldiers on patrol nearby. I gave them the appropriate orders—nobody in or out without permission of senior staff—then opened the door and we went down together.

We traveled deep under Skyhold, and I could hear the faint sound of the waterfall. She had to raise her voice a bit to be heard over it as we walked down the steep stairway.

“Is Samson dead?” she called.

“No,” I replied. “Somehow, he’s still locked up, right where he normally is.” Was he involved in this? There was a distinct possibility, but why would he have stayed?

“That’s good,” she said, and I gave her a look over my shoulder. He’d been a good resource, just as she had predicted, but did she really care if he lived or died?

“He might have seen something,” she explained. I shrugged. We’d see if he was feeling cooperative.

We reached the door to the cells, and I opened it and walked in ahead of her. The sound of water was even louder here, and I could smell blood in the air. Unsurprising. A few of the torches had gone out, but there was enough light for me to see a body sprawled at the other end of the room. A tray of food lay at my feet, its contents scattered on the floor.

The room must have been full of magic, if what Rylen had described was the case. I should have felt something, anything, but I didn’t. I worried about how I, now just a normal man and not a Templar, would defend her against blood magic. I contemplated Cassandra’s offer seriously for the first time.

Samson was in the first cell to my left, reclining on a chair with his ankles propped up on his cot. Rylen stood next to the gate, his arms crossed. I caught a glitter of red in the shadows, and Samson stood and sketched a mocking salute.

“Inquisitor, Cullen,” he said to us. “So nice of you to join us.”

Without turning around, Rylen smashed the back of his armored fist up against the bars, just inches from Samson’s face. Samson took an involuntary step back, and grinned.

“Speak when you’re spoken to, scum!” Rylen snapped.

“It’s fine, Ser Rylen.” She waved a vague hand in their general direction, her eyes a bit unfocused. “I’ll need to talk to Samson before I leave, but first I will take a look around.”

“Don’t mind me,” Samson drawled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sorry, Inquisitor,” Rylen said. “I wanted to light some of these torches, but it feels like there are several traps in here, and I didn’t want to move anything until you showed up.”

“Excellent instincts, Rylen.” She flicked her hand, that odd gesture like there is water on her fingertips, and filled the air with mage lights. The room was illuminated with her usual dancing, blue-white fireflies, and I found it oddly comforting, even as they hovered over a gruesome scene.

Halfway down the room, a complicated series of glyphs and sigils had been inscribed on the floor, all in blood. There were huge crimson blotches around the body, and I could see similar stains in the two cells at the end as well. Encountering this never gets any easier. It was going to be harder to investigate without my abilities, but I would have to make do. It was like...I needed to listen to a familiar song but I’d gone deaf in one ear.

“Do we know who that is down there?” she asked.

“I don’t—“ I began.

“It’s Stephan, my usual guard,” Samson interjected. “At least, it looks like him from here, and those are the clothes he was wearing earlier today.”

“I see. Thank you, Samson.” She nodded.

“I live to serve,” came the acrid reply. “He wasn’t a bad sort. Didn’t deserve a bunch of you bloody robes cutting him up, that’s for certain.”

She did not reply, but moved forward towards the sigils. I followed behind her, and she turned for a moment.

“There are wards here, like Rylen thought, so it may be safer if you remain behind. I must dispel them carefully.”

I frowned at her, and laid my hand on the pommel of my sword. Not a chance. “I may not be able to feel these things, but I’m still coming with you. You’re unarmed, and there’s no telling what might happen.”

She smiled at me. “These days, I’m never really unarmed.” She nodded at my boots. “Stay behind me, then, and try to step where I step. Don’t scuff the lines. I need to see what was going on here.”

“How sweet,” Samson sneered. I ignored him, but Rylen raised a fist again, and Samson stepped back from the bars, his hands raised. “Fine, fine.”

She began to move forward. “He’s right, though,” she observed.

“About what?” I asked.

“It is rather sweet of you to fuss,” she tossed over her shoulder. Now was not the time for humor, but I know Evelyn sometimes makes jokes at odd times. I let it go.

She stopped after a few steps, and held up a hand. “A simple warding glyph to start with,” she explained. “I will disrupt it.” She extended her palm and concentrated. I should have been able to feel what she was doing, but I couldn’t, not anymore.

After a moment, she carefully scraped the toe of her boot back in forth in front of herself, as if she were feeling for something. She seemed to find whatever it was she was looking for because she scuffed her heel in a very specific spot. A circular glyph flared up beneath her foot for a moment, bright marks suddenly visible on the floor, and then vanished.

“That’s one,” she said. “Shall we continue?”

She stepped past where the glyph had been, and almost reached the bloody lines on the floor, when she stopped again.

“That’s interesting,” she said. “Stay where you are, but look around for something like a rock or a brick. It will have a flat side, maybe the size of your palm.”

We both peered around for a moment or two, then I spotted a stone like she described in one of the cells next to us. “I think there’s something in there. Shall I go get it?” I offered.

She shook her head, then carefully made her way over. I trailed along after her, just in case. She paused in front of the gate, seemed to feel nothing remarkable, and swung it open. A small flagstone appeared to have come loose and was propped up on the wall. She picked it up and showed to me: on the underside, someone had hastily carved the lines of a small rune.

“I’m going to destroy this,” she told me. “It should be safe, but it will make some noise.”

She stepped to the edge of the cell, hefted the rock in her hand, then heaved it at the wall. It smashed into the bricks and shattered, its magic dissipating in the form of…water? The liquid spread nearly as far as my feet, but did not emerge from the cell itself. A glyph on the floor glowed and vanished.

“Water?” I asked. “What _was_ that?”

“It’s actually quite effective, but only if you do not know how it works,” she explained as we picked our way back over to the center of the room, “but I do--I’ve keyed glyphs to runes before. You see, glyphs like this are constructed such that the real nexus—“

“Evelyn,” I interrupted. Now was not the time for a complicated explanation of magic.

“Right.” She pointed at the floor. “It was acting like a glyph, but the power really came from the rune. If I’d tried to get rid of it like the last trap, it would have gone off out here and covered the floor with water, obscuring a lot of the detail in the blood ritual. Someone wants us to see this, but they don’t want us to study it. They’re trying to cover their tracks.”

“You could have asked Rylen to just get rid of all the magic in the room,” I grumbled. Or I could have done it for her, once.

“That’s like cutting a knot instead of gently untangling it,” she pointed out. “Besides, Rylen wouldn’t have been able to take care of the rune, and I wouldn’t have gotten the information I have about the kind of person who constructed this.” She bent down at the edge of the runes and began to trace one delicate finger above the markings, careful to not touch them.

She didn’t ask me what any of the circles meant, so she was either just mindlessly memorizing them or was well-acquainted with what they did. And it was Evelyn, which meant the latter was true. I hate to admit it, but there was an irrational part of me, way down in my gut, that was deeply disturbed that a mage, any mage, had this knowledge. I was also impressed.

I eyed the body, splayed just a few yards in front of us.  “Stay out of the warding circle underneath the body,” I ordered her. “I don’t want that thing waking up and attacking us.”

She looked pleased and gave me a quick nod, stepping carefully next to another ritual circle. “We’ll have to get rid of it eventually. In the meantime, I am trying to memorize these markings so I can study them later, because when you fight that thing, you’re going to scuff everything up on the floor.” I slowly circled around the body after her, examining all the markings on the flagstones.

“This circle,” I said, nodding at the one she was currently examining. “I’ve seen this before, but it wasn’t anything I was taught in my novitiate or at Kinloch Hold. I saw it in the Free Marches, when a few apostates from Starkhaven were apprehended. Some of them escaped, unfortunately, and its use spread into Kirkwall. It would have been around 9:35, I think.”

“Interesting.” She stood up and tapped a finger against her cheek, thinking. “I wouldn’t have caught that. I saw it in the areas around Ostwick at least three years earlier than that. It’s hard to predict how fast these various techniques spread, of course, but I didn’t know it wasn’t common down here in the south.”

I shrugged. “It wasn’t common ten years ago, but that doesn't mean much now. We’d have to ask Templars from Ferelden or Orlais if they are familiar with it. It’s not more powerful, though. It just shifts a bit of energy from the warding circle, there, to the projection circle, over there.”

“That’s right,” she nodded. “Southern maleficarum use Krantz’s Form to do essentially the same thing, don’t they? So our mage has a bit of a Free Marcher accent, if you will.”

Maker’s breath, hadn’t the Templars been able to keep _anything_ from her? Of course not—it was Evelyn. I felt my mouth twist a bit. As unnatural as it felt to be working with a mage, I'd been with an inordinate number inept, uninformed Templars on similar investigations. It was both a relief and a pleasure to accompany someone who knew what she was doing. “A blood mage from the Free Marches, or someone who knows a blood mage from the Free Marches. That doesn’t narrow it down much, does it?” 

She pierced me with a look for just a moment, the one that makes me feel like a shiny object being evaluated by a crow. There must have been something odd in my voice or expression, but she turned away almost immediately and looked at the body.

“Poor Stephan,” she sighed. “We’ve got to get this place cleaned up before anyone else sees it and descends into hysterics. That means dealing with the body.”

“Stand back,” I ordered her, and drew my sword. “I’ll disturb the circle and dispose of it. There’s a very good chance he’s going to get up.”

She laid her fingers on my arm. “Or,” she said, “we go stand next to Rylen, and I do it from over there. That will give me some time to weaken the creature as it approaches, and we’ll all be safer. We don’t know what form it will take.”

“Yes, of course,” I nodded, feeling a bit foolish. Working with her had its advantages, as always.

She smiled at me and squeezed my arm. “I hope one day you’re used to fighting with a mage at your side.”

And she set off towards Rylen and Samson, leaving me to follow in her wake. Rylen had remained in front of Samson’s cell, showing no sign of the effects the residual magic in the room must have had on him. I remember how blood magic felt—none of the rich, sympathetic vibration, just the feeling of raw…power. It wasn’t necessarily a bad sensation, but I’d certainly been conditioned to hate it, to the point of nearly becoming physically ill when I experienced it.

As she approached, Rylen nodded, and asked, “How did it go, Inquisitor?”

For a moment, her mask of calm slipped, and she shuddered. “Poor Stephan. It never gets any less repulsive, does it? I need a bath.”

“We are going to attempt to deal with the corpse now,” she told Rylen. “Let me hit it as much as possible from a distance before we close with it.”

“We?” Rylen asked, his brow furrowed.

In reply, she unhooked he hilt of her spirit blade from her belt and her otherworldly longsword, blue-white and glowing, appeared. Even in that terrible place, it was beautiful. Samson looked genuinely surprised, and even Rylen raised his eyebrows.

“Nice sword,” he said, and she smiled at him. “Just…don’t light the body on fire, all right?” he asked, and she nodded.

She turned back to the other end of the room, took a deep breath, and thrust her hand, palm-out, towards the corpse.

I felt…a very small tingle, and there was a loud crack as the body was encased in ice. Rylen and I drew our swords.

Nothing happened.

“Interesting,” Evelyn said. “I thought there was a chance that might occur. Or _not_ occur, as it were.”

“Nothing happened,” Rylen observed. “What did you do?”

“ _I_ didn’t do anything,” she replied. “The good news, although I’m afraid it does not help Stephan, is that the wards and protections in Skyhold are ancient and run very, very deep. I think it would take a much more powerful ritual to succeed within these walls.” Her sword vanished and she replaced the hilt, then scrubbed a hand across her face. “Would you mind…dealing with the body so we know for sure it’s ready for cremation?”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” I replied, and Rylen and I went to the end of the room, stepping carefully around the blood. I put my foot into the warding circle, and nothing happened, so I cut the body’s head off. Rylen and I did not look at each other. Further preparations could be made later, but it would be good enough for now. I hate all of the parts of this, but I particularly hate dealing with the bodies associated with blood magic. The things they experience before their death are unspeakable, and Stephan was…not an exception to this rule.

“You certainly seem to know a lot about blood magic, Inquisitor,” I heard Samson drawl as we returned.

“I know a lot about _fighting_ blood magic, Samson,” she corrected. “I also know a lot about removing a man’s armor, but I have no desire whatsoever to put it on myself. It’s a poor fit, you see.”

I coughed, and although Rylen’s expression didn’t change, he turned red as a beet. But to my surprise, Samson just laughed.

“No wonder your Inquisition’s Templars love you. I’m sure you’ve never had any problems finding innocent Knights to help you hone your craft,” he shot back with a grin.

“Fewer than you’d think, I’m afraid.” She shook her head ruefully. She was joking with Samson. He was smiling. For a moment, he looked like the man I knew nearly ten years ago. He had been kind, liked mages and laughed easily, before the addiction started to take him. Not that it matters. This is the man he is now, not a Templar.

“Now, I want to ask you some questions about what went on here.” She removed the fruit from her pocket. “In return, I am prepared to move you out of this prison, at least while we clean up, and will also give you this apple.”

“An…apple?” he asked. An _apple_? Rylen and I both had the good sense to keep our mouths shut. Was this her idea of…negotiation?

“That’s about the worst bribe I’ve ever been offered, Inquisitor,” he snapped.

“Your dinner is on the floor,” she observed. “I thought you might be hungry.”

He glared at her, his red-rimmed eyes angry and suspicious. “What happens if I _don’t_ cooperate?”

“We’ll still move you, and I’ll still give you this apple,” she replied. “Samson, Stephan was a good man. I know there were several times he supplied you with extra lyrium when you were in extreme pain.”

“You knew about that, did you?” He narrowed his eyes at her.

“I authorized it,” she shrugged. I hadn’t been happy about that.

Then she leaned closer to his cell, her voice low, dangerous, and, if I am honest with myself, almost seductive. “And if you don’t help me, I’ll _still_ find out who thinks they can get away with torturing and killing _my_ soldier, and I’ll _still_ cut that sick _fuck_ into ribbons,” she hissed. “I promise you that. But if you tell me what you know,” she concluded, leaning back and reverting to her normal, calm tone of voice, “I might be able to do it faster.”

He blinked at her for a moment, and swallowed. “Give me the apple,” he rasped.

Wordlessly, she handed the apple to Rylen, and he passed it through the bars to Samson. At least she had more sense than to stick her hand in there with him.

Samson held the apple for a moment, and looked down at it.

“There’s not much to tell. I didn’t go down to the Undercroft today to visit with your crazy dwarf because I had a headache.”

Maker, I prayed, please do not let her offer him tea. Please. And Andraste be praised, sometimes He hears us. She simply nodded and he continued.

“Stephan brought me a meal around midday, I ate it, and then I fell asleep. I slept for longer than I usually do, and no nightmares for once. I don’t know how long it was, but I could smell blood when I woke up and the magic still felt…fresh. I called for help, but nobody heard. Thankfully, it wasn’t long until that other Templar came down with my food. She dropped the tray and ran, and I sat down here with Stephan for a while longer until your Ser Rylen graced us with his presence.”

I frowned. “I wonder if his midday meal was drugged. We’ll have to see if the alchemists or herbalists can determine anything from the dishes.”

“Was there anything else outside of the ordinary, Samson?” Evelyn asked. “Anything at all, no matter how small.”

“Can’t think of anything, beyond the sleep.” He frowned. “Why would someone want to do blood magic in the middle of the afternoon? They weren’t summoning demons, they were trying to exert control over someone, but you have to be asleep for that to work on you. It doesn’t make any blasted sense.”

“No,” Evelyn shook her head. “It doesn’t. One small bright spot is that I think there’s a good chance it _didn’t_ work. By all rights, the warding circle under Stephan should have called some sort of demon or spirit into the body, but it didn’t, because Skyhold’s magic was stronger than the blood magic. The projection might not have worked, either.”

“Someone would need a lot more power, you mean,” Samson said. “A lot more blood and pain.”

“As I said before, Skyhold is _very_ old,” she replied. “More than likely, if the malefecar wants to attempt this again, he or she will simply leave Skyhold to perform the ritual. So we must act quickly.”

She turned away from Samson. “Knight-Captain Rylen, I want you to begin this investigation. Knight-Captain Liam will assist you. If you have one or two other Templars who are both capable and discreet, then you may recruit them; otherwise, I recommend Knights Carter and Ella from Ostwick. I also need your team to include at least two trustworthy, knowledgeable mages.”

Rylen nodded. “Of course, Inquisitor.”

“Wait, mages?” I snapped. “Why? Are you sure that’s safe?” I regretted it as soon as I said it. I trust her, I do. It’s just…it’s still hard for me to trust the general concept of a mage investigating blood magic. But it wasn’t my decision, was it? And she was quite skilled, and I can't mistrust mages my entire life, can I? It's just so hard to work beyond half a lifetime's worth of prejudice. And that's my problem, not hers.

“Why mages?” She looked at me. Her eyes were…flat. “Because the Templar Order no longer exists, that’s why. They had eight hundred years to perfect a system to protect mages and stamp out magical abuses, and it went horribly wrong. I am not going to reinstate exactly the same system and expect it to somehow have different results.”

“So we have a dilemma, do we not?” she continued. “The mages will no longer submit to rule by an outside group, but who will be impartial enough to investigate magical abuses?” She spread her hands. “I submit that the main problem with your Templar Order is that you didn’t have any mages.”

Samson snorted from his cell. Rylen raised his fist, and Samson remained silent.

“We talked about how mages will deal with this very situation, Cullen. What about an organization that contains loyal members of the College of Enchanters, but has the freedom to act independently?” she asked, even though I realized, right at that moment, that the solution had been obvious all along.

“You’d need small groups to move quickly and on their own initiative,” I replied. “Four to six people. A mage-Templar command pairing to lead investigations, maybe one other mage, a solid archer, someone good with a dagger in close quarters for backup.”

Rylen looked at her, then leaned up against the wall and crossed his arms. “For the mages to agree with that, this organization would have to be headed up by a mage. One of them, someone they can trust even if they don’t agree with…this person.”

Evelyn smiled. “Well, it’s all speculation at this point, but we should begin as we mean to continue. Rylen, I saw Sidony on the battlements yesterday, and I suggest you start with her as one of your mages.”

“What about Rion?” I asked, considering who might be available. “He’s done good work for us before.”

“Good idea,” Rylen replied. “Even if we try to keep this a secret, word’s going to get out. How do you suggest we handle it?”

She thought for a moment. “People are going to be frightened and upset, but I think we have to tell them the truth: there was a murder, but Skyhold itself keeps our people safe from more sinister influence. The mages and Templars are cooperating _together_ in the investigation. We should also notify Stephan’s family and make sure they receive their stipend. Cullen, any other suggestions?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something, but right now, no.” The whole scene was horrible, and I hate blood magic, but I felt more...useful, more stimulated, than I had in ages.

“All right. Samson, thank you for your assistance. Rylen will find somewhere safe and secure for you. Rylen, I want you to supervise the cleanup down here.” She looked at him for a moment, and I noticed that he seemed a bit pale. She placed her left hand on his shoulder. “Delegate the responsibility. You’ve been down here long enough, and this place stinks.”

“Are you returning to the banquet?” I asked, and she made a face.

“If you two can take it from here, I’m going to update Grand Enchanter Fiona about these developments. If I’m lucky, maybe I can convince her this whole arrangement is partially her idea. Then…I’m going for a walk on the battlements, I think. I’ve lost my appetite.” She gave Rylen’s shoulder one last pat, then made her way out of the prison.

After she left, Samson let out a dry chuckle. “You certainly found yourself a strange mage, Cullen. Maybe she does care about the Templars, but they’ll never work with mages, not even for her.”

Rylen gave him a humorless smile. “You’d be surprised. Times are changing, Samson. Eat your apple. Some of us have work to do.”

“Let’s go,” I snapped, and we made our way back into the fresh air.

 


	18. When the Maker Gives You a Second Chance

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

Evelyn was leaning by the door when we finally made our way out of that pit. We all stood there in silence for a while, taking big, deep breaths of the evening air.

Rylen eventually turned to her. “Convenient package, isn’t it, Inquisitor? Blood magic ritual, obvious victim nearby, unconscious at the time. Locked up in a cell to keep him from wandering off and getting a bite to eat, even.”

She glanced at me. “I think it’s a threat. I think someone wants me to know they can hit us here if they want to. The funny part is, I really don’t think the ritual worked. I don’t have any proof other than the body down there, and just the general…feeling I get from Skyhold.” She looked across the courtyard and smiled. “Look at this ancient place—I wonder how Solas knew to find it? Do you think it likes having people live here again? Maybe it’s so old that it doesn’t even notice.”

“Ugh,” she said, giving her head a shake. “That whole situation down there has put me off. Obviously we should proceed based on the evidence and not a ‘feeling’ I have. I presume you have a place for Samson?”

“Skyhold has some pretty deep holes to throw him into,” I said. “I’m sure I can find one. No more visits to the Undercroft, but I think those were over anyway. He’s fading fast.”

“Make sure he’s both well-guarded and comfortable. The problem—if indeed he is influenced by blood magic—will deal with itself soon enough.”

“It’s more than he deserves, but I’ll see to it,” I said.

“Dearest, not many people in this world are as strong as you are.” Her eyes were soft and sad. “Placed under extraordinary pressure, most people will eventually break. Hate him if you want to, because he did terrible things. But understand that he was used as a tool by forces much stronger than himself, forces that exploited his loyalty and then threw him away when he broke under pressure.”

Rylen snorted. “I didn’t break, Inquisitor. Neither did you, it seems.”

“That’s because you are a stubborn as a mule, Ser Rylen. And I…” She paused. “Well. I am leaving for the Frostback Basin in two days, as planned. If necessary, I trust you both to handle this situation while I am gone.”

She put her hand on my chest, leaned up, and kissed me on the cheek. “I'm going for that walk now. I know I won’t see you tonight because you'll be working, so make sure you eat something and try to get a few hours of sleep, all right?”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” I said, trying not to blush in front of Rylen, and she smiled and made her way across the courtyard.

Rylen squinted at me. “Do you call that woman ‘Inquisitor,’ all the time, brother? Or do you occasionally switch to ‘Your Worship’ when you’re—“

“Shut up, Rylen,” I snapped.

I was up late that night, making arrangements for the Inquisitor’s departure back to the Frostbacks. The sooner she has that situation resolved, the sooner she will be able to focus entirely on other issues. The sooner she can return.

Rylen stopped by after a few hours to report in on his progress. Grand Enchanter Fiona had given half-hearted approval to the plan, and Sidony and Rion were already hard at work in the mage tower, gathering gossip and information before word began to spread about what had happened. Templar Carver was covering the cleanup, making sure we had not missed any other clues in the prison, and Ella and Knight-Captain Liam were doing…something.

“I don’t know what he’s up to, exactly,” Rylen told me. “I informed Liam about the situation, told him the Inquisitor wanted his help. He was out the door as soon as he was in his armor, said he was ‘gonna take care of things’ and that he’d report back tomorrow afternoon. He said he was going to take Ella to ‘keep him from falling off the mountain’—his words, again—so I presume they’re scouting outside of Skyhold.”

“That doesn’t sound uncharacteristic, unfortunately,” I replied. “Give him until tomorrow afternoon and if you don’t have results or a better idea of what he’s up to, get your own people.”

“Of course, Commander,” he said. Usually, he just leaves and…takes care of things, but instead, he sat down in one of my chairs with a large sigh. I let him sit in silence, and continued working until he finally spoke.

“Samson was right about something for once. The Inquisitor certainly knows an awful lot about blood magic.”

I put my pen down. “Is that a problem for you?”

“No.” He thought about it for a moment. “We haven’t worked this closely before. I’m just trying to wrap my mind around who she is, that’s all.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Let me know how goes. I still haven’t managed it myself.” On one hand, I’d been disturbed by how much she knew, too. On the other hand, working with a mind that sharp had been stimulating, made me want to push myself and my knowledge. But without my Templar abilities, how could I truly be her equal?

“You know,” he continued, “I hadn’t put it together until today. She…calms people down, doesn’t she? My heart was beating so fast, down in that hole with all that filth, and she put her hand on me, and I felt better. I’ve seen her do it to other folks, too.”

“I suppose so,” I said. I wondered if this line of questioning was going to become obscene. But he seemed…muted that evening, and things didn’t go in that direction. I almost wish, in retrospect, that they had.

“I like her,” he told me. “I know you’re my commander, but you’re also my friend, and when I saw you looking at her, way back at Haven…I was worried. And later…but it’s not a power thing, is it? Working together, you complement each other. Maker knows, it’s still odd because _she’s_ odd and you’re… _you_ , but it’s normal, isn’t it?”

Normal. I'd never thought of it that way, and he didn't need to know that. I was not interested in discussing my relationship, but something was obviously wrong. He stood up and started to pace in front of my desk.

“Rylen—“ I began, but he interrupted me.

“But we’re not normal, not any of us in the Templars. Maybe we don’t deserve normal,” he blurted.

“Rylen,” I tried again, “are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Instead of answering directly, though, he looked away, and asked, “Does she…know?”

“You will have to be more specific than that, Rylen,” I said.

He looked down at his hands. “When I was out there, in that desert. I kept busy during the day, but…it gets so quiet at night. The things we did, _before_ , I couldn’t help but think—ach, ignore me. I just haven’t been sleeping properly, that’s all.”

“Nightmares?”

He took a deep breath, and sighed. “Some days I believe that this is where I’m supposed to be, what the Maker wants me to be doing,” he looked up at me. “But then I dream, and I’m back there again. Sometimes it happens when I’m awake. I don’t know what to do. I can’t sleep. Sometimes the drinking helps, but sometimes it…” he trailed off.

“Sometimes it doesn’t. Believe me, I know.” I sighed. I didn’t ask where “there” was. I knew what he meant. “I also know you want to go back to Griffon Wing Keep, but as of now, I’m stationing you at Skyhold indefinitely.”

He looked up, surprised. Too much thinking, not enough sleep. Things becoming overwhelming and not making sense. It was all a tangle for Rylen right now, and too familiar for my tastes. What had worked for me?

“I have two orders for you, as your commander _and_ as your friend: first, I want you to talk to Inquisitor Trevelyan about the dreams you are having.” He started to protest, but I held up my hand. “You don’t have to…describe what happens in the dreams. Just tell her you’ve been having nightmares, and she’ll give you some suggestions.”

He frowned and crossed his arms. Stubborn. How could I convince him? He had revealed something very personal. Perhaps the best thing to do was reciprocate. We _are_ friends, after all.

I cleared my throat. “When I stopped taking lyrium, the dreams…worsened. I wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating. Any free moment I had, I spent thinking about the past. I started hallucinating. I told Cassandra that I wanted to be removed from my position. I may have…thrown something at the Inquisitor.”

“What?” He sat up straighter. “Maker’s breath, I knew things were bad but…you should have said something to me, Cullen.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You may have noticed, but asking for help was not something we were trained to do. Speaking of this sort of thing is…very difficult.”

He snorted. “I don’t need you _or_ the Inquisitor to tell me that.”

“But the Inquisitor—Evelyn—talked me out of quitting, and she suggested some things I could try. Turns out, mages have bad dreams too, except theirs are filled with demons, remember? And she has good strategies for dealing with it. She says it’s her ‘area of research.’”

“Not all of us have pretty girls in our beds to talk to us about our nightmares,” he spat, waving a hand. “I bet it’s easier to forget most things if a mage has got her mouth wrapped around your—”

He stopped, his eyes wide. I smacked both my hands down on the desk and took a deep breath. He’d crossed far, far over the line.

“I…I’m sorry, Cullen,” he began. “I don’t know what…”

I almost kicked him out then and there, but then I remembered the times I’d been downright nasty and selfish when Evelyn had reached out to me. I’d wanted to talk; I just didn’t know how, so instead I was just…horrible.

“Shut _your_ mouth and pay attention. This was…before that,” I said. “It took me a long time before I felt like I could _actually_ be with someone, anyone—much less a mage—and not…ruin it.” I almost _had_ ruined it, but he didn’t need to know that. I shrugged. “I still think I don’t deserve her, I don’t deserve any of this. I’m still not normal.”

I walked back around and put my hands down on my desk, looking at the piles of paperwork. How did I get him to listen to me? I had to try. I looked up and gave him the most severe look I could muster.

“Rylen, you have the power to do something about this tangle you’re in. You can fix it. You have a new life. If Maker gives you another chance, _you have to take it_.”

He was silent for a long time. “I suppose if she’s patient enough tolerate _you_ , then maybe she’ll be willing to talk to me. It’s worth a try, right?”

“Good, because it wasn’t a request, it was an order,” I grunted, and he nodded. “Fine. And if you ever say anything crude about the Inquisitor again, I will throw you off the battlements.”

He nodded again. “Fair enough.” He paused. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—it’s nothing to do with her, I swear, it’s just that…sometimes I get so I can’t see straight and…”

“I know,” I said. “That’s why you’re not a pile of broken bones in the courtyard. Yet. Now, are we done talking about this so I can give you your new assignment?”

He nodded and sat up straighter. “Yes, Commander.”

“Good,” I said, and cleared my throat. I was certainly ready to put that conversation behind me, forever.

“Next: I want you to work with the Inquisitor and Seeker Pentaghast. Soon, we will need a replacement for the Nevarran Accords, and the Inquisition will be at the center of such an agreement. The Inquisitor has put something in motion tonight, and we will have to deal with the ramifications of that. I need to someone to determine what, if any, the fate of the Templars will be in the future. Someone to advocate for them. It’s important work, Rylen, and there are few I can trust with this duty. I need you at your best.”

He rocked back in surprise. “Why not you? You know the Templars are loyal to you. Maker, you’ve given them _hope_ —they’d follow you into the Void for that. Most of them feel the same way about the Inquisitor, too.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Most?”

“She’s a mage,” he looked away, probably still aware he was on thin ice from his previous comments. “There’s always a danger there, you know that. It’s primarily some of the younger ones, the newer recruits. Life’s not very ambiguous when you’re that age. You haven’t learned that _anyone_ with power is dangerous, and you haven’t done things that…well.”

“That’s why I need you, Rylen,” I urged. “I need someone who can be seen by all sides as completely impartial. To those who are suspicious of mages, I might seem a bit…”

“Partial?” he suggested with a tentative smile.

“That’s one way of putting it,” I said wryly. “So…it’s agreed?”

“All right, then.” He let out a tired laugh. “Won't lie, I’d agree to work in the kitchens if it meant you didn’t send me back to the Western Approach. Besides, I’m interested in getting to know your Inquisitor a bit better. Most mages would rather see us go extinct, but she’s always trying to work with us. You saw what it did for recruitment and morale when she tried to save those Red Templars. What kind of a mage does that?”

"She's not just a mage, Rylen."

“Maker, she even deals with that old bastard Liam, who, I might mention,” he smirked, suddenly looking like his old self, “complains about you _all the time_. You’d think you were trying to court his daughter.”

I shrugged. It was not an inaccurate assessment, but I wasn’t going to tell Rylen that.

“There’s a story, isn’t there?” He heaved himself up out of his chair and headed for the door. “Well, I should be off, Commander. Lots to do. Maybe I’ll try to catch up with the Inquisitor tomorrow if she has time.”

“Rylen,” I called, and he turned. “Leave it be. If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you. It’s not a very nice story.”

“These days, not many of them are,” he murmured, and paused for a moment. “Commander? I hope you know I’d follow you anywhere, too. Just give the word.”

“Duly noted, Ser Rylen,” I said. “Now go away and let’s never have this sort of conversation again.”

“Maker, _please_ let that be so,” he prayed, and headed out the door.

I know what I told Rylen is true, and on most days I believe it myself. It’s harder when she is gone, but I try.

I have not yet told her of Cassandra’s offer, because I do not know what to think of it yet myself. I could have protected Evelyn today. But if I swear myself to another organization, we could potentially be parted.

And…is that really what I want for myself? Can I be content with who I am now? I told Rylen that when the Maker gives you a second chance, you take it, but this offer from the Seeker does not seem as clear-cut to me. I will pray on it.

 

* * *

_A note from Knight-Captain Rylen to the Inqusitor, sent the next morning by Skyhold messenger:_

 

Inquisitor:

 Rion & Sidony’s investigation in the mage tower is continuing. Asked them to report in on what they have tomorrow afternoon. Will notify you immediately if they have actionable information sooner than that.

Knight-Captain Liam sent a crow from outside Skyhold, says to tell you he’s “working on it.” Assign more Templars to investigate?

Unrelated: you never took me up on that offer to spar. Tomorrow morning? If you’re not too busy.

Respectfully submitted,

 

Knight-Captain Rylen

 

* * *

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Knight-Captain Rylen, sent later that afternoon by Skyhold messenger:_

 

Rylen:

I look forward to hearing their report as soon as it is available. Let Liam work—it’s an excellent sign that we heard anything from him at all. He must be making progress.

I have nearly completed my preparations today, so I believe I will have time to meet you tomorrow at dawn in the training grounds. I look forward to it.

 

Inquisitor Trevelyan


	19. Everything in the World but My Broken Self

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up: there are some descriptions of a character dealing with PTSD-like experiences in this chapter.

_The first entry in Knight-Captain Rylen’s personal journal:_

 

Inquisitor says I’m supposed to write down what happens in my dreams and what I did every day. Starting with what happened today. It’s going to be hard.

Last night, I dreamed about the fire at Starkhaven. I don’t remember much. The smell, and the smudges of black on faces. And the heat.

Woke up sweating, heart beating fast. Only had a couple of drinks last night, so I know that’s not it. Got dressed, waited for the sun to rise. Went over the things to get done, made a list. Sidony and Rion are still chatting with mages, will get word to me around midday. No sign of Liam beyond that stupid message. Carver’s got the prison cells cleaned up, and gossip hasn’t started to spread yet. Not much, at least.

Worried about Griffon Wing, then decided to put it out of my head. The well is clean, Captain Smythe is running things, and she needs the experience. She can handle it.

Went out to the practice fields at dawn to spar with the Inquisitor. Sent her a note yesterday asking if she wanted to go a couple of rounds. Figured it was better to do something active and then move the conversation around to…those other things.

I was surprised to see her there already, leaning against the fence and eating an apple. I hadn’t eaten breakfast. She smiled and tossed something in my direction when I was close enough. Another apple. I caught it. Woman’s apparently full of apples. I remembered how she’d noticed Samson hadn’t eaten, and she’d given him one, too. A piece of fruit and a bit of concern for the Templars, and he was rolling over asking her to scratch his belly.

“Cullen never eats breakfast.” She talks with her mouth full. “Everyone does better work in the morning with some food in them.”

I ate it. Apples, her weapon of choice?

On the plus side of things, apparently _she_ was capable of showing up to early-morning meetings. I’ve stopped even trying to schedule them with the Commander. He always shows up late and flustered when she’s at Skyhold. Suppose it’s easier to get out of bed when there’s not anyone else in it. And your room doesn’t have three other people trying to somehow put on plate armor quietly.

She had her staff, and was wearing some kind of light armor, possibly made out of dragonbone. Probably cuts down on range of motion for spellcasting, but if she’s up close to things instead of in the back where mages belong, chances are she needs it.

“Nice armor,” I said. “Good to see a mage with some sense. Could be heavier, though.” Can’t believe I was telling her jokes right before it happened.

“Thank you!” she said. “Dagna made it for me out of the Fereldan Frostback! I find the webbing is especially useful for protection against blah blah blah.” It was like I’d given her a huge compliment when anyone with eyes in their head would have noticed she was wearing armor made out of a bloody dragon. She rambled on for a while about enchantments—I don’t care about how to make magical shit, I just wear what I’m given—and then put her hands on her hips and gave me this huge smile.

I’ve always sort of wondered what Cullen first saw in her, and there it was. I’d seen her spout nonsense and then grin at him like that before, but she’d never directed it at me. I’d thought she was...well, not ugly or anything but kind of plain, but right then, all of a sudden, she was downright lovely. I felt good for the first time in ages. Hard to explain, that. Guess that’s what she does. She’s still not my type, but a soft, casual touch, a smile, and maybe an apple from that woman and a man could get lost.

Made me feel a lot better about other things, too. Cullen’s my friend, and like I’d told him last night, I didn’t want to see him in some kind of weird power thing with a mage. But I guess if she makes him tea and smiles at him like _that_ , maybe he’s just in love with her. Maybe it’s just…normal.

He’s certainly better with her than he was without her, that’s for certain. Healthier. Hope he sees that.

“So,” she said, pushing herself away from the fence, “staff or sword?”

“I have to admit, I’m curious about this blade of yours,” I told her. She nodded, and reached to her belt to unfasten the hilt of a longsword. I’d wondered about that—she keeps it right next to her spellbook, but I hadn’t seen her do anything with it until last night.

She held the hilt for a moment—I felt something small and magic in there, don’t know what it was—and then a blade spread across her outstretched palm. It was a bright white-blue, and it had a hum to it. Magic was just pouring out of the thing like water, and I wondered how much concentration it took to maintain it.

“May I?” I asked, holding out my hand. It was unlike any sword I’d ever seen, and I would have loved to take a look at it.

“You can’t, actually,” she smiled apologetically. “Only I may hold it, and I’d prefer if you didn’t touch it.”

“Oh, I apologize,” I said. Must be a mage thing. I bent over it, then, careful to keep my hands to myself. “It looks like a longsword, though. The ones I’ve seen Madame Vivienne and Commander Helene wield feel less…real. And they’re a different color?”

“An affectation of mine,” she said. “The new Knight-Enchanters will manifest their blades and then train with them, but as I mentioned before, I had no real trainer, so I made do with what I had at hand. And when I did finally form my spirit blade, it took the form of the old longsword I had worked with for years.”

“You—“ My mind stopped working for a minute. That was such a clear violation of the rules—no Templar in his right mind would do such a thing. “Where did you get a sword? Who trained you?”

She smiled at me again, and I could tell she had something planned. “I will make you a deal. I yield, and I will answer a question. You yield, and you answer a question for me. Come on,” she said, motioning me out into the field. “Enough talking.”

I followed her out and began to ready myself. I had no real idea what I would be facing, and it felt good. No more sitting on my hands, worrying about what I’d dream of that night. No blood magic, no fire, just movement and steel and sweat. Maybe some magic, but at least it was a sword. Swords I understand. That’s what I thought, anyway.

“Do you mind if I manifest a barrier? I can give you one as well, if you’d like,” she offered.

I shook my head. I didn’t want her magic…on me. “I’d rather not, Inquisitor.” I grinned at her, then. Trying not to be rude. Make it a joke. “Are you afraid of a few bumps and bruises?”

She smiled back. “I have to lead an assault on an Avvar fortress in under a week, so yes, I’d rather not have you break my ribs. I won’t be casting any spells other than the blade, so you have an advantage over me, you see.”

“If you’d like, I will fight with only one hand,” I said.

“A silly offer from a man who brought a greatsword,” she observed, and I laughed. It felt good to be out in the sun, stretching my muscles and preparing to fight an unknown opponent. More moving, less thinking.

The air around her changed for a moment, and I felt the magic of her barrier form. I raised my blade. She turned halfway away from me, and raised her sword as well. Lithe and relaxed. Interesting. She nodded.

“Shall we?” she said, and I moved at her.

The other mages hold the blade in one hand and their staff in the other, but she used only her sword to block my overhand blow. She slid her off-hand down the blade and caught the strike over her head, her sword held parallel to the ground. This was definitely not like fighting a mage, but I could still feel the magic throbbing from her barrier and weapon, pushing at the edge of my senses. It was…disconcerting. I know how to fight a mage, and I know how to fight someone with a blade, but the muscle memory and the reflexes were not the same for both.

She pushed me back, then moved forward, still gripping both the blade and the hilt and thrusting the point at the left side of my face. I dodged a bit to the side and raised my sword across to parry, and to my surprise, she moved even closer to me, sliding her sword down and trapping my gauntlets and hilt against my chest with the flat of her blade. Her breastplate was nearly pressed up against mine. Close, too close. At the same time, she slid her leg behind mine and shoved with her sword. I toppled over her knee and fell flat on my back.

She leaned over me with a smile and a hand extended to help me up and I saw…

A woman leaning over me, her hand extended, fire beginning to move around the edges of her fingers and a grimace on her face smudged black with ashes and charcoal and I smell smoke in the air

They’d ordered us to leave the apprentices but I’d gone in anyway stupid bastard that I was, idealistic, stupid, thinking that I could save them but she was there too and blood on the floor and she caught me by surprise, knocked me down and reached for me so I grab her wrist and stifle her magic and pull her towards me wrapping my hands around her throat but she punches me in the face with the pommel of her sword—but that can’t be right—and kicks me off her and she is up and moving away so I get up and lunge at her, wrapping my arm around her throat from behind and she reaches up and grips it and throws me over her shoulder and I land and can’t breathe, too much smoke in the air, no room in my lungs

“ _Rylen_!” It is Cullen’s voice. He isn’t supposed to be at Starkhaven, he isn’t stationed here. What—

I looked up, and the sky was blue. Birds. No smoke. I gasped for air, and heard heavy footsteps running towards me, and then my friend was there, my best friend, helping me sit up. My nose ached and was streaming blood everywhere.

“Maker’s breath, man, what did you _do_?” He was incredibly pale. I looked around. Skyhold training grounds, Cullen, the Inquisitor on one knee nearby, fingers at the red mark on her throat, looking at me. Eyes huge, dagger in her hand. I felt like the air was knocked out of me again.

“Oh, Maker, what did I do?” I gasped. And then I put my face in my hands and started to cry.

I heard her get up, then, moving closer.

“Don’t—“ Cullen began.

“Hush,” she said, and I felt her arms come around me and press my face against her shoulder and in what was definitely the most humiliating moment of my life, I doused the Inquisitor’s fancy dragon armor in blood and tears and snot. She kneeled next to me and stroked the back of my neck and made the kinds of noises women make when they try to comfort you. And—after a few minutes, I felt better. Stopped blubbering like a baby.

She handed me something and I wiped the blood and goo off my face, but she kept one arm around my shoulder, hand still pressed against the back of my neck.

I could barely look at her, but when I did, her eyes were calm and soft and unafraid. She sat very close to me, close enough that I could feel the magic in her, that feeling that told any decent Templar he was too close to a mage, but I didn’t care. I wanted her close. Maybe if she could fix a hole in the sky, if she could fix those Red Templars, she could help me fix this.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked. And for the first time, I did.

So I told her: the dreams, the problems sleeping, the fire at Starkhaven, hunting maleficarum, the rescue efforts in Kirkwall. Fixing everything in the world but my broken self. Thinking too much. Always moving, always doing, so I _wouldn’t_ think. I forced all of it out and she listened very carefully and nodded from time to time.

After a while, I sort of wound down, and she smiled at me.

“That’s all,” I said. At least, that’s all I could think of then. I know there’s more.

“Thank you,” she said. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Maker, yes,” I said. And she stood, still smiling at me, and extended both her hands to help me up. Cullen made one of those unhappy noises he makes when he disapproves of something, but she ignored him. I looked at her hand, the one glowing green, the one she’d had pressed up against my neck. And then I reached up and let her pull me to my feet.

“All right,” she said, squeezing both of my hands and then releasing them. “I am ready to make a plan, if you are. We will start work today, and when we have finished, will rest for a while. Later, you can give me your report as planned.”

“Please,” I said. A woman of action, at least.

“We’ll go back to my rooms and I’ll write up a list of the appropriate interventions for you, then,” she told me. Cullen frowned and she shot him a look. “Your office is too public.”

“Your barrier was down and you hit your head,” he snapped back.

“I’m—so sorry,” I said. I looked down, and there was blood all over my hands.

“Hush,” she waved her hand at me. “If you’re worried, Cullen, you can come along. But all that blood is his.” She cast a critical eye at me. “You look like I punched you in the nose. I _did_ punch you in the nose, actually.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Cullen’s been wanting to do that for ages. You just saved him the trouble. I’m sure he’ll do plenty worse to me later.”

He let out a huff of surprised laughter. “I think your nose is broken. That’s probably punishment enough.”

I touched it gently. Definitely broken. Again. “Can you heal it?” I asked her. Seems like she thought she could fix everything else.

“No,” she informed me, shrugging. “Never been able to heal properly. But I’m sure the healers can set it for you.”

“Better than Cullen,” I sighed. “He always does a terrible job.”

“Better than nothing,” he said.

“Let’s go,” I said, holding up the cloth to stop the blood. We walked up out of the training grounds in silence, and stopped by the healers’ tent.

Ian, the one from the Blades of Hessarian, was there. Soft hands, that one. My nose still crunched and bled when he set it, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as when Cullen does it.

He packed my nose with cotton and wiped the blood off my face. Didn’t ask any questions.

I cleared my throat. “The Inquisitor kicked my arse on the practice fields. It’ll be good for morale.”

“Fighting the Herald of Andraste?” He wiped his hands on a cloth and shook his head. “Good for morale, maybe, but bad for your nose. Come by when the swelling’s gone down and one of us will check to make sure it’s set properly.”

“That’s nice,” I said. “When will _you_ be here?”

He dropped the rag. “I’m…leaving tomorrow with the Herald. Good day, Ser.” He picked the cloth up and hurried away.

I stood up and we made our way across the courtyard.

Cullen frowned as we walked. “It could have just as easily been me who broke your nose. I know it would have improved _my_ morale.”

“Not a chance,” I scoffed. “Everyone knows I can take you, no problem. You’re too pretty to be tough. Your Inquisitor here is the exception to the rule,” I said, nodding at her.

She cocked her head at me like a curious bird. “Does he flirt with _you_ when you beat him up?” she asked Cullen.

“He flirts with everyone,” Cullen sighed. “Didn’t you notice? Ian from the Blades is terrified of him now.”

“What? The man’s handsome!” I protested. “Do you think he likes tattoos?”

Cullen shot me a look.

“Don’t tell me,” I complained. “He’s an apostate?” Of course. What a day.

“It manifests in his conventional healing ability, but you’d only notice if you knew what you were looking for,” the Inquisitor replied. “He’s a hedge mage—I don’t know if you make the distinction, but we do.” She seemed as calm as ever, and I realized I’d tried to kill her and she just…wasn’t upset.

“Ach, it’s all the same to me. Come on, let’s get to your room. I don’t want to know who else is a secret mage.”

So we both followed her upstairs. The woman’s room is a total mess, even worse than Cullen’s office, like she took all the fancy stuff that was in there to begin with and moved it to the side, then filled it up with mage things like scrolls and books and stacks of paper. She cleared off her desk and started to make a list.

Basically, I’m supposed to write everything down, dreams and all, and look for patterns of things that might be setting me off. Says I can talk to her about it, but I don’t have to, as long as I keep the journal. And I’m supposed to cut back on drinking, and go work in the garden a bit. Quiet times, but doing things. Doesn’t sound so terrible.

So, that’s it. I guess writing this has gotten easier as I’ve gone along, so maybe it won’t be that bad. She says it works, Cullen says it works. We’ll see. It’s better than nothing. Thank the Maker, I’m still allowed on the blood magic investigation. She says I need “meaningful work,” but if it gets bad I’m supposed to tell Cullen.

Before I left, she patted me on the shoulder again. “Just so we’re even, Rylen—you were wondering where I got the sword, and who taught me how to use it?” She smiled. “It was Knight-Captain Liam.”

“What?” I gasped. “That old bastard? Gave you a sword and taught you how to fight Templars?”

“Almost ten years ago,” she smiled. “And he had his reasons. If it makes you feel any better, the training process was miserable. He’s really become much more pleasant to deal with since then.”

A mage taught about blood magic and swordfighting by one of the least sympathetic Templars I’d ever met. I suppose he must have had his reasons, but they certainly can’t have been sentimental.

As I got up to leave, Cullen reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll be in my room tonight if you need me. Your report will still be ready about midday?”

“Thank you, my brother,” I replied. “I’ll have a messenger sent for you when I have the information from the mages. In the meantime, I need to take a few minutes.”

I looked at the Inquisitor. She was sitting at her desk, scribbling notes. I bowed my head. “Thank you, Inquisitor. I’m…sorry.” She waved a hand at me, casually dismissing my apology, and kept writing. I headed back to my quarters.

So I cleaned myself up and spent some time writing this down. Don’t know if things will be better tonight, but Maker knows I’m exhausted, so maybe that will help with the sleep. I’ll take anything I can get at this point, and at least I’m doing something in the meantime.

I took my lyrium just now. I never really understood why Cullen wanted to quit, but now I see. It’s tied up in everything that happened, everything that we did to the mages, everything that the mages and the Chantry did to us.

It’s like I have a sixth sense, one the Maker didn’t give me. It’s not natural for me to be this way, and I just want some peace. The withdrawal would be terrible, but imagine, one day, being normal. Knowing I serve _because I want to_ , not wondering in the back of my mind if I’m fooling myself into doing it because I _have_ to, to get the lyrium.

Pointless to speculate right now; I have things to do. Apparently you give me some free time and put me in front of blank paper, and I turn into an adolescent girl.

Knight-Corporal lurking outside my door, working up the courage to knock. He thinks I don’t know those idiots let bugs get into their storage. Now they need to ask the quartermaster for at least fifty new pairs of smallclothes, and they want me to do it. I’ll tell the poor moth-eaten bastard that I already took care of it and he can expect some new underthings tomorrow, but first he’s going to have to ask me. Let’s see how long it takes him. I’m expecting reports in at midday from the mages, and I want to get back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be taking a couple of days off from updates to focus on getting some more work in the pipeline. Hope you're enjoying! Comments, kudos, and pageviews are all appreciated to the maximum.


	20. Not Quite Fixed, but Not Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW.

_From Commander Cullen’s journal:_

 

As Rylen was leaving, Evelyn sat at her desk and began to scratch some notes in her journal. I just stood there, staring at her. She had his blood all over her armor and the end of her braid. My friend had attacked and almost killed her, all because I’d asked her to talk to him. And now she was sitting there, calm as could be, writing away on some parchment.

She glanced up at me after a moment, and must have seen something in my face, because she closed her book immediately and came over and wrapped her arms around my waist.

“Evelyn,” I began, but I couldn’t finish. I grabbed her and pulled her up against me, and buried my face in her hair.

She patted me awkwardly on the back. “He’ll be fine, dearest,” she murmured. “You’ll see. The interventions really do—“

“I’m not worried about him, I’m worried about _you_ ,” I snapped. “Last night, we find blood magic at Skyhold! This morning, I expected to walk down to that field to see you sparring with a friend, not scrambling away from a senior Templar trying to kill you! You think I haven’t seen that before? You think I don’t know how that always, always ends? Maker’s breath, Evelyn, I could have lost you!”

“I’m glad I told you I’d be down there,” she said, trying and failing to soothe me. “If you hadn’t come when you did, or he hadn’t come back to the present soon, you would have certainly lost one of us. But you didn’t, and it will be well, you’ll see.”

I sputtered at her for a second, shocked she was treating this so casually. “By all that’s—Evelyn, I am trained to kill you! _Rylen_ is trained to kill you! We are _Templars_! You have to take this seriously!”

“I am going to tell you something—“ she held up a hand as I tried to interrupt. “I want you to listen. If you can’t listen to me now then you’ll have to come back when you are capable of listening.”

I closed my mouth and scowled at her. I was not going to get thrown out of her quarters just because she was being stubborn.

“When I was in the Frostbacks, you wrote me a letter and asked about my family and I—didn’t answer. My father was very concerned with bloodlines—both horses’ and his own—and when I was very young, I remember my father making us all pray to the Maker every day that he would have a son.”

She stepped back from me. I thought about holding her there, but I let her go.

“When I was five, my sister was born, and we kept praying. She was a beautiful baby, though. Even when she was young, before I left, she was everything my mother wanted. I was always sort of drab and strange, but she had these lovely blonde curls and big blue eyes. She was spoiled silly,” I sighed, “and I couldn’t stand her. I was nine, of course. I’m sure we all would have improved with time.”

She reached up and began to unbraid her hair, pulling out flecks of Rylen’s blood as she continued to speak. “Anyway, the Templars came and took me away when I was ten, and I didn’t hear from any of my relatives directly until just a few months ago.”

“What happened to your sister?” I had no idea where this was going.

“After I’d traveled with Liam and the others for a few years, we met another group of Templar hunters. I…always tried to make myself scarce when we encountered other hunting parties, but they heard Liam say my last name and that’s when I learned what had happened. Years before, my family had been traveling to Tantervale to trade some horses when the Templars came for my sister. It seems magic runs in my family. She was ten, too, but it went…poorly. She lost control, killed our nurse and one of the Templars.”

“I’m sorry, Evelyn.” She was tugging too hard at her hair and I put my hand over hers. She dropped her braid and looked away.

She shook her head. “The man who told me—he was friends with the Templar who’d died. He was very pleased to tell me all about what she…became, how the others killed her. He laughed. I think he thought he’d break me, get me to attack him so he could kill me, too. Revenge.”

“But after years of training and traveling,” she smiled softly, “I did not allow him to wound me that way. All I did was offer him condolences for the loss of his friend. So he punched me in the face. I didn’t fight back, and Knight-Captain Liam had to pull him off when the Knight started to choke me. Liam lectured me for instigating, and we left immediately.”

I closed my eyes. I knew what it looked like. A single mage, tormented by a Templar, the other Knights looking away uncomfortably.

“He treated it like it was _your_ fault? Sometimes I don’t understand why you still bother with that man. He’s frustrating even for a Templar.”

“I know traveling with them sounds horrible, and lonely, and so often, it was. The Templars spoke to me even less than usual for that next week.” She smiled wistfully. “I thought they were angry with me, and were going to return me to the Circle, but…in retrospect, I do wonder what they discussed with each other during that time. We had worked together for years, you see. And now, with distance, I see it all so differently.”

“After that week had passed…Liam had been teaching me the basics of the Knight-Enchanter skills for some time, but that’s when my training started to get quite brutal. I was constantly bruised and sore, because the Knight-Captain gave me a sword _and_ a dagger and began the process of showing me how to fight a man who was clad in full plate.”

“Oh,” I breathed. “That’s…”

“Oh yes. Ella and Carter and the rest, the ones who didn’t make it—they never said a word. They had to have known what he was doing, what he was teaching me. Everyone wonders why I am so tolerant of Templars, when the world is what it is, and they are so cruel. I simply know that given a chance, if it’s not beaten or drugged out of them, they can be human, too.”

“So,” she shrugged, “we’re both trained to kill each other, but that’s our past. It doesn’t have to be our future. The things we can do are not who we are.”

She turned away, then looked at me over her shoulder, her eyes sad. I wasn’t angry anymore, or frustrated. Mostly just tired of falling back into the trap of dividing the world up into categories instead of trying to see individuals. Tired of trying to figure out who I want to be.

“Evelyn,” I began, “I…want to talk to you about…our future.”

“Good,” she said, reaching into the box on her desk where she kept her letters. The box matched the one I kept in my desk, the one containing her phylactery. She pulled out a small stack of folded letters bound with string. It caught me off-balance, like she was expecting us to have this conversation and had prepared. But was that very surprising? She walked across the room, sat cross-legged on the bed, and carefully placed the papers in front of her.

“Sit?” she asked, and patted the bed next to her.

If I got too close to her, I knew I would lose my nerve, so I stood in front of the bed and clasped my hands behind my back.

“Evelyn,” I began, “Cassandra has asked me to join the reformed Seekers of Truth.”

“What?” she gasped. “That’s not what I—oh.” She picked the letters up and looked at them. “Oh. You are…leaving?”

“I—what? No! It’s just…since the war ended, I have felt less and less like I have…a purpose. Like I am useful. Yesterday, when we were working together, I felt like…what if there were _more_ I could be doing? And if there were, shouldn’t I be doing it? I don’t know what that is, but…maybe this is what I need.”

“Oh,” she said. “I thought we were building something new together. Building a future. Making a plan. I was…trying.”

“This isn’t about you.” I blew out a huge sigh. “It’s always _your_ plan, Evelyn, not mine. I’m trying to piece together what I want from my life now that the war is over. Maybe if I were a Seeker, I could at least be useful. I could protect you.”

She stood up and took the papers back to her desk, slamming them into the drawer. This was not at all how I had expected her to react, and her attitude put me on the defensive.

She turned and put her hands on her hips. “First of all, the entire idea of the mixed units _was_ your plan. I thought it was a good idea, a good solution for the Inquisition. And the plans I made, I thought they were for _us_. Second of all, your value as a person is not tied to how ‘useful’ you are. I don’t even know what that means. Third of all—“

“Exactly how long is this list going to last?” I groaned.

“Third of all, I don’t need you to be able to do those things again. I like who you are now. I don’t want the old you, I want _you_.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “All right. I thought you might be unhappy, but not for the reasons I suspected. We can make a plan—“

“ _You_ can stay here and make a plan.” I rolled my eyes. This was going nowhere. “I have been up to my ears in mages and blood and magic for days, and I am tired. I should just…go and rest until we hear from Rylen. All right?”

“Fine,” she snapped. “You’ve obviously been planning this for some time, just like the others did when _they_ left. If you can’t handle who I am, what I know, what I can do…” Her voice cracked. “If you can’t talk to me, maybe you _should_ leave.”

I’d thought she might ask me some questions, help me decide what to do, not jump to conclusions and get angry. Not…this.

“I’m trying to talk to you, and you’re not listening, so what’s the point?” I unconsciously raised my voice. She took a step back. “Evelyn, I’m so tired of _talking_. I want to _do_ things. You say you want me to stay, but how do I even know that’s true?” I flung a hand out, and she flinched. “As far as I can tell, you’re _terrified_ of making a commitment to me!”

“What? You’re the only man I’ve ever even—“ She looked down at her desk and took a deep breath. Her shoulders shook. “That’s not—you—this has obviously built up for some time, and you are very angry. I’m sorry. I will think about what you said, and when you’re ready, we will…try again.”

I put my head in my hands and started to laugh. The whole thing was so _stupid_ —I wasn’t even angry, just frustrated. I didn’t want to join the Seekers. I just…I need some change. That’s all. I probably should have pieced that together beforehand.

“Maker’s breath, Evelyn, why can’t we argue like a normal couple?” I looked at her. “My parents used to yell for half an hour and then it would be fine, no talking, no deep breaths, no plans.”

Her face started to crumple. “Do you _want_ me to lose my temper? _All I have_ is talking and plans and lists and interventions and _you don’t want those_. Come back when you’re ready to--to I don’t know what. Do something that’s not that.”

“Evelyn—“

“I am trying to hold a thousand things together right now, and then you come and tell me things are so bad you’re thinking about _leaving_ —“

“I’m not leaving, I just—“

She closed her eyes, and pressed her hands against her head. “Get out,” she whispered. “You can’t have me. Not ever.”

My heart dropped down into my stomach and there was a faint buzzing in my ears. No, I thought. It wasn’t over, we weren’t over, not after everything we’d been through. Not ever.

I stepped forward to pull her into my arms, but she held a hand out to stop me.

“Keep back,” she said, her voice suddenly cool and hollow, as if it came from a great distance inside her chest. Her lips were nearly white, and I’d never seen her face so pale. She took deep, even breaths, and I realized great waves of heat were rolling off her body.

She wrapped her arms around her torso and fell to her knees.

“Draw your sword,” she whispered. And as I watched in horror, she began to rock back and forth.

“No,” I said—I think I said. I don’t remember—

“I am a woman, I am a weapon,” she murmured in the familiar rhythm of her meditation. “I am a mage. I am fire. I am the sharp edge of a blade.”

She opened her eyes. And I remembered…watching her drop from the ramparts at Adamant, her falling body vanishing into an ugly green tear in the fabric of the world. Knowing she was gone forever, that I’d lost her.

This was worse. This was pure, sickening fear. Something was trying to take her, and there was nothing I could do if it happened. Nothing but—

Not that. Anything but that.

I dropped down beside her and began to pray. Once, twice, three times, she muttered those familiar phrases, the ones I’d always hated. She’s so much more than any of those things, those..objects. She’s everything, everything I am, everything I’m not.

She stopped speaking, and a heartbeat later began to recite something new, and for a moment, I was back at Kinloch Hold, tormented by visions of Solona, hair so red, eyes so blue. I knelt there for days, lips parched and bloody, whispering those same words--the Litany of Adralla.

Just one recitation of the Litany, and then she stopped. She took a deep breath and exhaled, the air of her sigh distorted in waves, like the air over a fire. Breathe in cool air, breathe out heat.

“Evelyn?” I whispered. She opened her eyes and drew in a breath--

And so, grasping at straws, desperate to bring her back, to do _something_ , I picked her up and threw her in the bath.

There was an enormous splash, bathwater all over the floor, then she emerged from beneath the surface, vomiting water and coughing.

“The _fuck_ you do that for?” she sputtered. “You worthless, nug-humping, dung-eating _arse_!”

I reached into the tub and hauled her out, pulling her up tight against my chest and burying my face in her shoulder.

“I thought I was losing you,” I whispered.

“I was fine,” she spat, slapping ineffectually at my arms. “It’s always worse than it looks.” I pulled her closer.

“ _Always_ —you were reciting the _Litany of Adralla_ ,” I snapped. “Maker’s breath, woman, _you told me to draw my sword!_ ”

“As a precaution! It’s all reflex, all part of the meditation! You recite your personal meditation to center yourself and control your emotions, and do lots of deep breathing to maintain clarity. You've seen me do it, at the Shrine of Dumat. I’ve always thrown in the Litany because I thought it was better to be safe than sorry under those circumstances. Sweet Andraste, I was about to tell you I was all right before you threw me in the bath!” She pulled back and narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you telling me you’ve never seen a mage resist possession that way before?”

“No,” I breathed. “If I’d seen you like that a few years ago, I might have…”

“Oh, dearest,” she sighed. “No wonder nobody in Kirkwall could pass their Harrowing. I see why they called it the Gallows—all those mages were as good as dead if they weren’t taught to control themselves.”

Her color was coming back, and her body seemed to be a normal temperature again. My heartbeat had not slowed back to its usual pace, however.

“Cullen, I won’t lie, what just happened shouldn’t have happened. That thing has been lurking around my dreams for several months now, but I never expected it to push through.”

“It’s my fault,” I groaned into her shoulder. “You told me months ago, and I’ve been so worried. Then when you came back, what you told me was even worse than I’d imagined. I felt like there was nothing I could do. So when Cassandra offered…I thought if I made that sacrifice, I could keep you safe. But in the end, it was me who put you in danger.”

She leaned her head against mine. “That’s not true,” she said. “Since I’ve come back it’s been nothing but Kirkwall and princes and parents and blood magic and otherwise lovely Templars trying to kill me. You were trying to ask for my help with a problem, and I didn’t hear. I’m sorry.”

“And you’re leaving tomorrow,” I said. “What will happen when you go back to that place? Evelyn, I can’t—“

“I promise,” she said, patting me on the back, “I promise I won’t go until this demon is gone. And maybe…maybe you could wait a while before making a decision about the Seekers?” she asked in a small voice.

“I’m not joining the Seekers,” I vowed. “My place is with you.” I gave her a squeeze and her armor made a squishing noise. “We’ll work the rest of it out. We’ll talk about it or make a plan or some other nonsense.”

“All right,” she agreed, and we stood there for a moment, just holding each other. Things weren’t quite fixed, but they weren’t broken, either.

Eventually, she shifted her weight, and her boots squelched. We both looked down, and I realized she was standing in a pool of water from the bath. Parts of my clothing were damp, too, but I didn’t care.

She shot me a quizzical look. “Cullen, why, exactly, did you throw me in the bath?”

“Mmm…” I thought for a moment. “I thought a sharp, sudden shock would be enough to snap you out of it.”

She pulled her head back and glared at me. “You know very well that theory is completely unsubstantiated! And—“

I kissed her. She made a tiny squeak of surprise and I took the opportunity to push her in the general direction of the bed. I kissed her until she was gasping, and we grappled with each other until she somehow managed to shove me up against the wide bedpost of her absurd bed, grab a fistful of my hair, and start to kiss me again.

I ran my palms down her back, cursing my stupid gloves, and dug my fingers into the curve of her bottom. She wrapped a leg around my waist and I slid my hand down her thigh and under her knee, pulling her as close as I could get with all that terrible fabric and metal between us.

Bless the Maker for light armor, though, because she curled her hands back around my shoulders and somehow managed to climb or pull herself up and wrap her other leg around my waist. I gripped her bottom with both hands, turned around, and pressed her back up against the bedpost. I held her there with my hips, grinding up between her legs as I tugged at the fingertip of my gauntlet with my teeth, desperately trying to remove at least one article of clothing so I could touch her.

She saw what I was doing and started trying to remove one of her gloves, but it was wet and secured with several buckles. We spent about a minute kissing and gasping and moving against each other while simultaneously trying and failing to get undressed, all the while, her soaked armor making ridiculous moist noises. Evelyn looked at me, and started to laugh.

“Put me down,” she ordered. I backed up enough to allow her to slide onto her feet, finally pulled off my glove, and tried to shove my bare hand under her armor, desperate to touch her skin. Unfortunately, the strip of fabric wrapped around her waist was in my way. I moved my hand up to her chest—metal breastplate, no luck, and she rolled her eyes at me—and then down between her legs where there was just soft, damp leather and I could at least cup my hand around her and rub, and her eyes rolled up in her head. She was moaning and gasping and sliding down the bedpost while I was trying to pull off my other glove with my mouth until finally—

“Stop, stop,” she laughed again, swatting at me with one hand. “Get me out of this armor!” I started fumbling at her waist, with no real idea of how to remove any of it, until she pushed my hands off again.

“Fine, just—take care of yourself. _All_ of it this time,” she ordered, pointing a finger at me.

I have never taken my armor off so quickly. She was naked by the time I got down to my smallclothes, and she planted her hand in the center of my chest and shoved me back against the bedpost. Before I could think, my remaining clothes were down at my ankles, she was kneeling in front of me, and my cock was in her mouth.

I dug my hands in her hair and tried desperately to hold still. But when she looked up, kneeling in front of _me_ , a man who is nothing compared to _her_ , her lips red and wet and wrapped around me, her eyes so green—I had to move away lest I embarrass myself like an adolescent boy.

I pulled her up and pressed her back against the bedpost. Her skin was still damp, and so soft that I wanted to bury my head in the crook of her neck and weep. She pouted at me and started to complain about my interruption, but I slid my tongue into her mouth and my hand between her legs. She let out a surprised squeak and started to slide down yet again, so I grabbed her hips and she wrapped a leg back around my waist.

She wiggled her hand between us, down to where my cock was throbbing against her stomach, and pushed me down further until I was pressed between her legs.

“I’m too tall,” I gasped. “Get on the bed.” But then she moved her leg up higher and started to rub against me and sigh, and I realized I was sliding against her most sensitive area. She was so soft, and very wet, and I decided I wasn’t interested in going anywhere else at that particular moment.

She pressed her hands up against my hips so I shifted a bit, and she worked herself down the length of me, enough that I was able to ease just the head of my cock into her. She was hot and tight, and as I thrust into her, I could feel the temperature of her body begin to increase, and a familiar flush begin to spread across her cheeks.

“Please,” she pleaded.

I pushed my arm under her leg and pulled it up higher, desperate to spread her wider so I could bury more of myself into her. A few more strokes, and she was writhing against me, digging her nails into my hips and calling my name. Her body pulled at me, squeezing me so tightly that, out of sheer desperation to take all of her, I grabbed her bottom, lifted her up and lowered her down onto my cock. She nearly screamed, and I lurched forward until her back was against the bedpost again.

The heat and pressure of her body, the scent and the texture of her skin, the noises coming out of her mouth—all of it nearly drove me out of my mind. I fucked her against the bed as hard as I possibly could for as long as I physically could, and when I came—it was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. I lost track of myself for a moment, and I can barely remember what I said to her, my lips moving against the hollow at the base of her throat. Which is probably for the best because, in retrospect, I think it was embarrassingly filthy, although she certainly didn’t complain.

My ears were ringing and my legs were shaking with the effort of standing upright, so I half-staggered, half-fell onto the bed, pulling her down on top of me.

We lay in silence for a long moment as I desperately tried to gather my thoughts. I know she doesn’t want me to say that she belongs to me, but I still believe it, the same way I believe my hand or my heart or my soul belongs to me, and if they were missing, I would not be whole.

I decided to ask her again. And if she said no, I’d just ask her the next day, and the day after that, until she said yes.

I…may not have been thinking very clearly at that moment. I buried my face into the crook of her neck and took a deep breath.

“Evelyn,” I began, pulling back and looking into her eyes. She smiled. “Do you think you could—would you—“

There was a knock at the door.

“Ugh. Ignore it,” she grumbled, and ran her hand down my back. “I’m listening.”

Another knock, this one more insistent. I started to roll off of her, but she pressed a hand into my hip.

“They’ll go away,” she said through gritted teeth.

They didn’t go away. There was a short pause, and then the scratch of a key in the lock and the scrape of the door opening.

“Inquisitor?” said a hesitant voice.

She snarled, “WHAT.” She narrowed her eyes and began to look very dangerous indeed.

“Err…Ser Rylen sent me? It’s important? There’s a situation, he needs you now, he said. If I could just…”

“ _Stop right there_ ,” she snapped. “I’m bathing. Close the door. I’ll be down in just a minute.”

“Y-yes, Your Worship,” whimpered the messenger, and the door slid shut.

I eased myself onto my back and looked at her. She scowled at the ceiling.

“Evelyn?” I asked, placing my hand against her shoulder.

She looked me and sighed.

“All right,” she muttered. “I suppose the timing _could_ have been much worse. We could have been interrupted, and I believe that would have resulted in the distinct possibility of you dropping me.” She smiled at me. “It was exciting, though, wasn’t it? I’ve never made love that way before.”

“I know,” I smirked. She poked me in the side. “What?” I protested. “I haven’t either! And I wouldn’t have dropped you.”

"You're insufferable." She sat up, swung her legs out of bed, and nudged her wet armor with her toe.

“Dagna is going to give me a lecture for this,” she sighed. “The bone absorbs water and takes a long time to dry out.”

She put on trousers and a tunic, and braided her hair. I watched her silently, the curve of her breast and hip, the scars on her back and chest, the smell of her still on my body. All of it…sang to me, and I feel like a complete idiot for even writing that down.

I lay very still and watched her move until she sat next to me on the bed. She reached out her cool hand and stroked it down my face and chest.

“I’m sorry, Cullen. You are—I wanted…” Her lips twisted into something that resembled a smile. “I have to hurry. Can you join me as soon as possible?”

“Of course,” I said. I took her hand and pressed a gentle kiss against her knuckles, and she smiled at me, a real smile this time.

“I couldn’t do this without you. I love you,” she whispered, and then hurried out the door.

Neither of us is quite fixed, but we’re not broken, either.


	21. A Momentary Lack of Reason

_From Seeker Pentaghast’s personal journal:_

Two days ago, I was going for a walk with Cole when he suddenly stood stock still and announced that we needed to return to Skyhold. He seems to want to spend more and more time outside of the walls these days, and I’d agreed to accompany him, as he likes it when I read to him and seems to be the only one who is not judgmental of my choice of books. I never thought I’d find that strange creature to be good company, but I suppose I do. He becomes more...himself every day, it seems.

By the time we returned, Rylen was handling the situation in the cells, and I offered my assistance if it was needed. I’d read the Inquisitor’s and Ser Rylen’s report yesterday, and today, Evelyn sent me a note asking for me to come and hear the results of Rylen’s investigation thus far. It was mid-afternoon when we gathered in the War Room.

“I may need your support,” she’d written, so there I was, along with the Inquisitor, Grand Enchanter Fiona, Ser Rylen, Josephine, and two Inquisition agents, Sidony and Rion. Commander Cullen had not arrived yet.

“I see no reason for a Templar representative to be at all necessary,” Fiona protested as I entered the room. “The Order has been disbanded and the Divine has made it clear they have no authority over the College of Enchanters. By that line of reasoning,” she added, her eyes narrowed at me, “one might observe that the Seekers of Truth should also not be involved.”

I snorted. “Who are your leaders, Fiona? What is your organizational structure? Has the Divine approved your procedures for dealing with situations like this? For that matter…do you _have_ any such procedures? The Inquisition _does_ , and it has the authority to enforce rulings—something you still lack.”

She frowned and looked away. “I simply have no desire to see our organization fall sway to Templars. It is so easy to lapse into old ways again…you, of all people, understand, do you not, Inquisitor?”

“As I told you previously,” Evelyn stressed, crossing her arms, “the team investigating this matter was formed of both mage and Templar representatives. You yourself were not able to suggest any mage candidates to head up or participate in the inquiry, so I selected two of our top Inquisition agents who are also members of the College of Enchanters. There were three Templars and two mages, total.”

The door opened and Cullen strode in, looking a bit more harried than usual. His hair was an untidy mess of curls and the front of his trousers was damp. I wondered what he’d been doing.

He gave us all a curt nod and took his place at the war table.

Fiona let out a frustrated sigh. “The College of Enchanters has existed for perhaps four months, and in that time we have been working extensively with Val Royeaux to form an organization that meets with the Divine’s approval.”

“Waiting for the gears of the Chantry to move could take months, even years of negotiations,” Josephine interjected. “I did offer to assist but…” she shrugged delicately.

“As I recall,” the Inquisitor drawled, “I _also_ offered to assist in drawing up a series of procedures to be utilized in scenarios just like this one, but I was informed that the new College had the know-how and expertise to manage it themselves.”

Fiona flushed. “I thought we did. We _do_. But it seems that in the wake of centuries of persecution by the Templars our mages are…hesitant to investigate their peers and colleagues.”

“That’s nothing new,” Evelyn tapped a finger against her cheek. “I told you before: you need an organization containing mages, but capable of moving decisively and working independently to investigate problems like this.”

“I…suppose so,” Fiona acknowledged, “but right now I’m concerned with the situation at hand. We need to deal with this, but I must be careful that we mages do not end up back in the same situation we experienced before. And that…we appear to have the situation under control, especially as far as the Chantry is concerned.”

“I am aware, Grand Enchanter,” the Inquisitor nodded. “I just want it made clear that I have the authority to investigate and judge any of these sorts of issues that arise within Skyhold. The mages may be ruling over themselves, but Skyhold is still mine. And I will call upon whatever resources I need, including the mages, the Templars, and the Seekers of Truth.”

“Very well, but many of the mages will not like that, Inquisitor,” Fiona frowned.

“Well, then those mages can leave. Maker, have I ever done poorly by them?” Evelyn threw her hands up. “I swear, our people will complain more about me _sneezing_ than signing ten years of their lives away to Tevinter magister.”

Fiona’s nostils flared at the insult.

“At some point, they’re going to have to get their heads around the idea of someone making rules, Fiona,” Evelyn continued. “You can’t be so frightened of authority that nobody gets to be in charge.”

“I’m trying, Inquisitor,” the older mage protested. “You have no idea—“

“I have a _very_ good idea, Fiona. You can’t herd cats. You grab them and you stuff them in a box.” She turned to Sidony and Rion, who had remained respectfully silent through the entire exchange.

“We all have things to do and the Grand Enchanter and I are not going to resolve this anytime soon. Rion, it is good to see you again; I don’t think we’ve spoken since Ostwick. Could you please give us an overview of what you and Sidony have found?”

The young mage Evelyn addressed cleared his throat nervously and spoke. “Err…yes, thank you, Inquisitor. I didn’t think you’d remember me.” He clasped his hands together. “About two months ago, a pair of merchants came to Skyhold. They were selling various spell components, alchemical equipment, rare herbs, and the like. One of the merchants spread the rumor that she was a hedge mage with skills in alchemy, and one of our younger mages approached them about…something extremely foolish.” Rion paused.

“Will we be hearing from this young mage ourselves?” the Inquisitor sighed.

Rion walked to the door, stuck his head out for a moment, and returned with a nervous-looking blonde woman.

The Inquisitor raised her eyebrows. “Enchanter Leonora?”

“You know her, Inquisitor?” I asked.

“Leonora trains with Madame Vivienne and the new group of Mage-Enchanters. Leonora, what was the particular alchemical formula you were looking for?”

The young mage flushed and shifted her weight from one foot to another. “A…a love potion, Your Worship.”

“Oh of all the—“ the Inquisitor snapped. “Everyone knows those don’t exist.”

Cullen cleared his throat. “That’s…not entirely true. Certain applications of blood magic make people susceptible to suggestion and manipulation. It’s much more subtle than just burrowing into someone’s dreams and commanding them.”

"Hmm," Evelyn nodded, “interesting. Good to know. I haven’t seen that, but if you've encountered it...it does seem to be theoretically possible.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m certain there’s a market for such a thing, whether or not it works.”

“It was a…a momentary lack of reason, Your Worship.” Leonora swallowed. “Afterwards, I was mortified and put the formula away in my personal possessions. But when the…merchants came back last week, they seemed very interested in my results. I thought it was a little odd, so I dug the scroll up, took a look at it, and immediately reported it to Senior Enchanter Walter. There was…blood in the potion, just a few drops. I might be stupid, but I’m not _that_ stupid. The Senior Enchanter took possession of the recipe and assured me that he’d take care of it. I thought it was all settled.”

Everyone in the room looked at Grand Enchanter Fiona. “This is the first time I’ve heard of this,” she breathed. “It was never brought to my attention.”

Sidony snorted and finally broke the silence she’d maintained. I hadn’t met her before, and I was surprised to hear her Nevarran accent. “Circle mages are a bunch of weaklings. Nobody reports anything because they are afraid it will give the Templars an excuse to regain control. Those who do report are shunned by the others.”

“With good reason, Sidony,” Rion interrupted. “You weren’t in a Circle, you—you don’t understand what it was like.”

“No,” the apostate scoffed, “I don’t understand, and so I am not blinded by emotion. If we do not reprimand the weak and the foolish, then they will be allowed to eventually accomplish something truly terrible, and there goes all the freedom we bled for.”

Fiona rubbed her hands across her face, suddenly looking older than I’d ever seen her. “This is my fault,” she murmured. “I was brave enough to make the break, but then after what happened at Kirkwall…”

“Be the leader the mages need, Fiona,” the Inquisitor ordered, “or find someone else who will. And if you don’t, then I have just the mage in mind, and I don’t think you want Madame Vivienne running things.”

Fiona bowed her head, then looked up, her eyes narrowed and her shoulders squared. “Very well, Inquisitor. That will be all, Leonora. Keep this to yourself for now. We will speak again.”

The young woman nodded and slunk away.

“Can she be trusted?” Cullen asked.

“She seemed honest to me,” Evelyn shrugged, “but we should still keep an eye on her. Fiona, can I ask your people to do that?”

Fiona nodded, and turned to the pair of mage agents.

“We have a much more pressing problem, I think. Where is Senior Enchanter Walter, Rion?”

“We haven’t—“

There was a loud thump and a scraping noise from outside, and then the door flew open with a bang. Ser Liam entered the room, staggering just a bit under the awkward weight of something humanoid in a sack. His arm and part of his leather breastplate were covered in blood. He threw the sack on the War Table. Pieces scattered and whoever was in the bag let out a squeak.

“Killed two, brought one back,” Liam grunted. “Senior Enchanter Walter, formerly of the White Spire. Says he’s innocent. He’s not.”

We all stood there for a moment. Josephine attempted to fill the silence. “That was certainly…efficient, Knight-Captain.”

Liam nodded towards Rion and Sidony. “Good working with these two. They did the legwork in the Circle, got the intelligence out to me and my people in the field. We moved fast and hit them hard. Ella’s in the infirmary. I took an arrow, got a little cut up, but I had enough potions.” He fixed an eye on Fiona. “Next time you send me out, I want a decent mage. Someone who at least pretends to have sense. Balls, too. Someone like these two or Trevelyan.”

“The Inquisitor certainly seems to have more than her share of balls,” Fiona responded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Metaphorical,” the Inquisitor interjected. “I never had any literal ones.”

“Whatever,” Liam snapped. “When this idiot wakes up, he’s gonna try to slime his way out of this.” The Knight-Captain reached into his knapsack and pulled out a blood-soaked book. “Here’s his journal. Formula’s in there too. Take a look,” he told Cullen. “You’ll be interested. Two bodies in a cart out front of the gates, so burn ‘em before they start smelling bad. Bunch of scrolls and potions. Burn ‘em too. Now, if you fancy folks will excuse me, I’m bleeding and I have a headache.”

The Inquisitor opened her mouth but Liam pointed a finger at her. “Shut up, Evelyn. I’m not drinking your shitty tea, I’m seeing a healer and going to bed. Send someone by tomorrow if you want more details. I don’t write reports.”

And then he walked out the door. I couldn't help but notice...Knight-Captain Liam had called her by her first name. Odd.

Rylen rolled his eyes, and gave the bag an experimental shove. The figure in the sack stirred and moaned.

“So, Senior Enchanter Walter,” I said. “What are we going to do with you?”

“All right, Rylen,” Cullen nodded at the war table. “You and the mages get Walter to his new accommodations. I’ll come with you, and we’ll see what kind of shape he’s in. Hopefully we can interrogate him tomorrow, Inquisitor.”

“I want to be there, too,” Fiona stated, and the Inquisitor nodded.

“Of course, Grand Enchanter,” she said.

The older woman cleared her throat. “I would like to address the mages about this turn of events, and our future plans, Inquisitor. If I called a small emergency meeting of senior leadership today, would you be able to attend?”

“Absolutely,” Evelyn said. “Just send me a messenger when you require my presence.”

The Inquisitor picked the bloodstained journal off the table. “I am going to look through this. Cassandra, could you please examine those carts and see if there’s anything important in there before they’re destroyed? Cullen, please have some of your men take care of the carts and materials when she’s done with them. Josephine, soothe any nobles in hysterics and make sure the gossip doesn’t drive people into a frenzy. Work with Sera on it if you have to. I’ll be in my quarters if anyone needs me.”

She picked up the journal, nodded at us all, and departed.

As everyone else was leaving, Cullen raised his eyebrows at me, so I remained behind.

When they had all left, I asked, “Did you need something, Commander?

“Lady Cassandra,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning on the war table. “I wanted to thank you for your offer. I gave it some thought and…I think the life you are offering me is still too close to the one I lived before. I will serve the Inquisition, and when that is over…” He shrugged. “I’d like to keep my options open.”

I was not surprised that he had chosen to decline, of course, but it had certainly been worth making the offer. We must all serve the Maker in our own way, and if I were ten years younger and in love, I might also have made a different decision.

“It is not a problem, Commander,” I smiled. “Something tells me the Inquisition will not be disbanding soon, at any rate. And if you change your mind, the offer still stands.”

“Thank you, Cassandra. Now, shall we go see about some carts and our prisoner?” he asked.

“I thought you’d never ask,” I replied.

We had our orders. After a week or so of taking walks and writing letters, it felt good to move.


	22. Just Nervous

_From Knight-Captain Rylen’s personal journal:_

 

Small mercy that Liam had already beaten that blood mage unconscious, because it saved me the trouble. When we left the War Room, Cullen stayed behind for a moment, so I tossed the bag over my shoulder, headed outside, and lounged against the stairs into the great hall. Didn’t see Ian at the healer’s tent, but I tried to look casual anyway. As much as I could while hauling a body and leaning on a wall.

Stood there for a minute or two, when who came up but that strange kid with the daggers who slinks around Skyhold. Cole. Something’s not right about the boy, but the Inquisitor seems to trust him and he gets the job done, so he’s not my concern.

Kid sidled up to me and peered out from under his ugly hat.

“Dark room, smell of smoke, mage reaches her hand for mine, fire flickers on her fingers,” he said. “Most of them were dead and gone when you got there. It wasn’t your fault. You saved the ones you could.”

“Wait—what?” Caught me completely off guard. What was he talking about, except—

“The song is too loud and the dreams are too much, but you can fix it. You know what you need to do.”

And then—he just walked away, and I stood there like an idiot with a man in a bag over my shoulder. The stupid part is, I felt…better. He was right, I did know what I needed to do. I was just scared shitless, that was all.

Cullen came out of the hall, we got the maleficar under guard in the deepest hole in Skyhold, and went back to his office to discuss the next steps. By late afternoon, we had gone over the same ground at least three times without any results, and he gave me one of those "what's wrong" looks.

So yeah, maybe I had two black eyes and my face was still puffy from where that mage broke my nose, but beyond that, I thought I was looking pretty good.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like the Inquisitor punched me in the face with a sword. But other than that…” I touched my nose and laughed. “Handsome.”

“Are you following her instructions?”

I shrugged. “So far, so good. I feel like a teenage noblewoman, but maybe putting things down on paper won’t hurt. And I thought I caught that prince looking at me from across the room at the ball. I think he might ask me to dance.”

He just looked at me.

I cleared my throat. Time to talk about it, I guess. “I was, ah, thinking that it might be time to consider making a break. From before.”

“Oh,” he nodded. “So Cassandra approached you, too?”

I blinked at him for a moment. “I’m…talking about quitting lyrium. What are _you_ talking about?”

“Oh! Nothing,” he said, and started looking through a drawer. He pulled out a sheet of parchment and smoothed it flat on the table. “It's worth it, Rylen, if you can do it. I will give you the information you need about—“

I put my hand over the parchment. “No, it’s not ‘nothing,’ it’s something. Are you thinking about joining the Seekers?”

He frowned. “Not anymore.”

I laughed in his face. Of all the damn fool ideas for him to have... “Well good,” I said, “because it was a stupid idea.”

“Excuse me?” he drew himself up and glared at me. He thinks that scowl will work just because he’s taller than me, but it never does.

“Completely mad,” I said, waving a hand dismissively. “All the things you really excel at—teaching, leading an army, being inspiring, the Seekers don’t do that. It’s halfway back to being a Templar, Cullen.”

“Shut up, Rylen,” he growled.

“Besides,” I added, “the Inquisitor needs you, and the Seekers would have you roaming all around Thedas all the time.” Pretty girl like that in his bed at night and he’s thinking about the _Seekers_? What an arse. I wondered if they were having…problems or something. Suppose if he wants to talk, he will. Or I'll make him. Either way, same result.

“I am fully aware of that, which is why I’ve declined the Seeker’s offer,” he snapped at me.

“Oh. Well. That’s good, then. You tell the Inquisitor you were thinking about it?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “She was…displeased.” I bet she was.

I laughed at him again. “Well, at least your nose isn’t broken! Come on, let’s go raise a few in celebration of feisty women. You can tell me all about it.”

“I should’t.” He shuffled some papers around on his desk. “I should probably…the conversation was…not pleasant.”

I came around the desk and thumped him on the shoulder. “Mad at you, is she? Well, you have to give a woman some time to simmer down, or you _are_ liable to get your nose broken.”

“She’s not mad at me,” he grumbled. “Why are we talking about this? Since when are you an expert on women? And anyway, weren’t we talking about _you_ quitting lyrium?”

He…had a point. Easier to tease him about his problems than it is to talk about mine. Funny how that seems to happen. I leaned against his desk, crossed my arms, and glared at him. He glared back.

“All right, fine,” I muttered and rolled his eyes skyward. “My day was a complete cock-up and I want you to come have a drink with me because I’m worried that this is the wrong thing to do. You’re my friend. I need your advice.”

He stood. “In that case, let’s go. But I’m not talking to you about Evelyn, so stop trying.”

I spread my hands in what I hoped was a grand gesture. “Believe me, brother, I want to stay as far away as possible from whatever it is you and that mage get up to.”

He just looked at me for a second, then smiled, the smug bastard.

“If that’s the case, Rylen, you probably should put some distance between yourself and my desk,” he drawled.

“What? No!” I flung myself off his desk and glared. Him _and_ his stupid desk _and_ that mage could all go to the Void.

He walked by me and clapped me on the back. “I told you not to call her ‘that mage,” he said. “Let’s go get a drink. You can tell me all about it.”

“Fine,” I said, "but only because now I think you have a dirty story to tell me.”

“No,” he told me, “I don’t. And don’t change the subject.”

So we had a couple drinks, me and my friend. I may have tried to change the subject for a few times just to make him uncomfortable, but he wasn’t having any of it.

Quitting lyrium…it seems unimaginable. I’ll get these dreams under control, get stable for a couple of weeks. I told Cullen that’s when I want to stop.

I’m…nervous, but I think it’s what I have to do. Just nervous, not scared or anything. It's normal to be nervous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna take a break for a couple of days to knock some writing out. I may update Friday if what I have is finished.


	23. If Suffering Brings Clarity

 

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan’s personal journal:_

After the meeting, I spent some time looking through Senior Enchanter Walter’s journal. As I suspected, there wasn’t much there. He’d been lured away from Skyhold with the promise of further secrets, but I was fairly certain that he wouldn’t have gotten out of the Frostbacks alive, or at least in possession of his own free will. I wondered if he’d been magically coerced into leaving, but based on his journal that was unlikely. He was an ambitious man, interested in researching questionable subjects like animal dissection as far back as the journal went, which was for almost six months.

So it seemed the main culprits had been eliminated, but why they were attempting to infiltrate Skyhold was still unknown to me. Hopefully Cassandra will turn up further evidence by searching their belongings.

Afterwards, I met with the senior mages. It was…reasonably amicable. They were suitably cowed by the way the situation with Walter had developed, and are willing to at least allow the current investigation to continue. If all are satisfied at its conclusion, then we will move on from there.

When all of that was finished, I went to my quarters and wept.

I had initially thought that Cullen was going to talk to me about the possibility of formalizing our relationship somehow, and I had prepared the appropriate materials. But that was not what he wanted to talk about, and I misread the situation. He does appear to feel upset about what he thinks is a…lack of commitment, but this is secondary to a general unhappiness about his situation in the Inquisition.

I had thought working to ensure that the Templars have a purpose in the coming years would be something he would find to be stimulating, but he does not appear to be pleased with his contribution to the ongoing investigation. I wonder if he feels his lack of Templar abilities are making him less effective at hunting maleficarum.

I was so excited to have him there, to be working together as equals, that I must have failed to notice that he felt ineffectual.

And when he told me Cassandra had offered him a place in the Seekers, I thought…I thought he was leaving me just like everyone else had.

And so we fought. What did we fight about? I barely know, even now. I nearly lost my temper.

That’s when I felt the rage demon push at me, trying to get in, and I had to concentrate to keep it from overwhelming me.

I had no time to explain to him what was happening. I had assumed he knew that I have a variety of defense mechanisms and centering techniques to avoid possession, but I suppose I have been hesitant to truly broach the subject with him, as he tends to get very upset. I see now that it is best that he be upset when I am _not_ in danger rather than when I _am_ , so he will not continue to do things like throw me into the bathtub in a misguided attempt to save my life.

My first instinct is to devise a list of things he can do to assist me if we ever find ourselves in such a situation again. We could talk about it and…

And he doesn’t _want_ to talk, and he doesn’t _want_ lists. I’m not sure what he wants, and now I am worried about even asking. But what else do I have? After the demon was gone, we made love to each other. It made me feel better, made me think that at least he’s not leaving now, that maybe he wants to stay if I can address his concerns.

I…do not know what to do. Do I do…anything?

I will have to think on it. First things first: I must master this fear and anger, and I must destroy the demon. Perhaps if it is not…pushing at me all the time, I will be able to think clearly.

Addendum: I went for a walk.

I found myself in the Templar quarters, knocking on Liam’s door. After a moment or two, it was opened by a young mage. I recognized her as one of the Inquisition’s healers, and she smiled at me with relief and saluted.

“Inquisitor—“ she began.

“Oh, that’s about the last thing I need,” I heard Liam complain from inside the room.

I entered, and walked to where Liam was laying on his bed. He had a sheet draped across his legs, but I could see light bandages around his ribs and one of his shoulders. His arms were crossed and he glowered at me and the healer.

“Hello, Liam. Are you being difficult?” I asked.

The healer cleared her throat. “I was trying to give him something to help him sleep, Your Worship, but—“

“But I didn’t want it and told her to go away. She didn’t. Reminds me of someone.”

I smiled at the young woman. “If he doesn’t really need the sleeping draught, he’ll be fine. His injuries are minor?”

Liam scratched at his torso. “Couple of cracked ribs and a slice on the shoulder. She healed it up fine and is just being paranoid because I’m old.”

“That’s not—“ she tried to protest.

“Foolishness,” he snapped.

“I’ll take it from here, Enchanter,” I told the healer, and she nodded with palpable relief and left.

“Well, at least you got rid of her,” Liam grumped, and lay back on his pillows. “Used to be mages were perfectly happy to see me suffer. You told them to go away and they’d let you bleed to death like the ungrateful bastard you were. That one wouldn’t stop poking and asking me questions about how I felt and what it’s like to fight blood mages.”

“Hm,” I said. “Sounds promising. Did you get her name?”

“Some girl name,” he snapped. I just looked at him for a second and he scratched his moustache. “Well, maybe I did. Stubborn _and_ curious, that one. I’m sure you can find some trouble for her to get into. What do you want?”

I sat down in the chair next to him. He peered at me, then reached out and grabbed my chin. I pushed his hand away and turned my face towards the door.

“You been crying?” he snapped.

“If I had been, do you think I’d come here to get abused by you immediately afterwards?” I shot back, looking at him out of the corner of my eye.

He frowned at me. “Maybe. What happened?”

“I didn’t come here to talk about that, Liam,” I lied.

“That young man of yours being a jackass?” he demanded.

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I turned back to Liam and twisted my hands in my lap.

“Well, go away and come back when you do know. Better yet, don’t come back at all,” he said, but I could tell he didn’t mean what he was saying any more than I believed it. Why do we still talk to each other this way?

“He says…” I sighed. “He says he’s not happy. That he doesn’t feel useful.”

“Of course he’s not,” Liam snorted, “he’s with you.”

I blinked. “I believe that’s really one of the more awful things you’ve said to me recently, Liam.”

“Quit being so sensitive. That’s not what I meant and you know it. Evelyn, you’re so capable, you make everyone else look like an infant. You plan everything to within an inch of its life.” He rolled his eyes. “Lists within lists. Procedures. Most people don’t like operating that way, girl. Makes it worse because most of the time, you’re right. Let the man do what he wants to with his life. Let him work it out himself.”

I considered what he said for a moment. “Liam,” I began, “Why’d you leave me?”

“Oh, is _that_ what this is about?” He frowned. “Look, I said I was sorry about that. Evelyn, if the man loves you, he’s not gonna leave you, and if he does, then he’s even more stupid than I thought because who…well, because I didn’t think he was _that_ stupid. Why are you so worried about this all of a sudden?”

“Liam, but that’s not what I asked. Why did _you_ leave me?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then sighed. “Your sword,” he said. “Can I see it?”

“Of course,” I said, and started to reach for the hilt.

As I did so, he took my other hand in his. Liam never touches me unless he can help it—it’s as if we’re still training together. He’ll shake me or grab me or thump my back, minimizing contact as much as possible, pulling away almost immediately. But the way he touched my hand just then was gentle, almost reverent. He opened his eyes.

“I am leaving tomorrow,” he said. “It has been…an honor fighting by your side. But I can’t…” his voice broke. “I’ve asked to transfer to another Circle. They’re sending me to Ostwick, in the Free Marches.”

“Liam?” I asked, noticing that his eyes had lost some of their sharp focus. “Liam, look at me. It’s Evelyn.”

He stared at me for a moment and shook his head as if to clear it. He was fading in and out, suffering the long-term effects of lyrium use. I had hoped ceasing the use of lyrium altogether would mean the flashbacks would stop, but although they had lessened, they had not vanished altogether.

“Stay with me, Liam,” I said. “It’s Evelyn. Try to concentrate.” I gripped his fingers with one hand and put the other on his chest, felt the fading vibration of the lyrium in his body.

“Your sword,” he repeated, tears in his eyes. “Can I see it?”

I fumbled for a second, then pulled out the hilt of my spirit blade and made it physical. As always, it took the form of the weapon he’d used to train me so long ago, that basic longsword with a blue gem in the pommel. I held it out to him, balanced across my hands.

He stroked his hand down the sword, the palm of his hand running over the sharp edge of the blade, and whispered, “I’m sorry I can’t…hold it. It is— _you_ are—magnificent. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise, Marie.” He formed his hand into a fist, and blood began to drip out of it.

“Maker, Liam, you’re bleeding!” I exclaimed. I dropped the hilt onto the bed, and the blade disappeared The whole thing had gotten out of control, and it was my fault. “I need to get you to a healer.”

He blinked, then shook his head again.

“It will heal, girl,” he sighed, looking at his bloody hand. “Everything heals in time. I thought it would be better if she…and you…didn’t think I cared. But it made it worse, didn’t it? Every time this happens, it’s like I’m back there again. There are less holes now that I’m not taking it, but…Maker’s breath, Evelyn, sometimes it would be a blessing to forget her. I had to go. I was a Templar, and she—I couldn’t—”

I fumbled at my belt, finding a piece of cloth and pressing it to his hand. “I’m so sorry, Liam. I shouldn’t have pushed—I was just selfish and scared.” I knotted the cloth around his hand, and he grabbed my arm.

“What’s got you scared, girl?” he snapped.

“I’ve been having bad dreams, Liam,” I confessed. “I’m so…angry.”

“Angry? What sorta dreams?” he shook me a little. “Something creeping in? Tell me!”

“Dreams about my parents,” I confessed. “I’m so young…they see my magic and they are disgusted. The Templars come and my parents just…let me go. And dreams about—about you. How could anyone _do_ that, Liam? How could a person love someone and just…abandon them like they are worthless? And why in the Maker’s name does it keep happening to me? Is something wrong with _me_?”

I shook my head. “I want to move past this anger, but…if I’m not angry, then what am I? What else remains?”

His brow wrinkled. “All right, let’s say you _are_ angry,” he began. “Why don’t you…tell me about it?” he added, rather weakly.

I took a deep breath, then released it, breathing my anger out as heat, distorting the air in front of my face.

“My parents are here at Skyhold after leaving me for _so many_ years, and _you_ left me, and _Cullen_ wanted to get married and then he wanted join the Seekers instead and leave me, and you won’t drink your blasted tea because you are _horrible_. And the _dreams won’t stop_. Something’s always pushing at me and it _won’t stop_.” There, I said it. Let it go into the world, and didn’t try to cover it up. I felt better immediately.

“He wants to marry you?” Liam looked confused. “What’s wrong with that boy? Mages don’t get married.”

I took another deep breath, let it out slowly. Breathing it out instead of compressing it down. “I’m the Inquisitor,” I sighed. “Leliana is the Divine. Poor Cullen was so _sure_ she’d say yes. He probably thought she’d marry me to my horse if I asked her to.”

“The dead one?” He squinted at me. “Evelyn, that’s just downright disgusting. That thing smells like a rotten log.”

I looked up at him then. Was he doing what I thought he was doing? “Liam, you are genuinely terrible at this.”

“I could feel you getting hot just for a second there, girl. Don’t complain—I didn’t put a sword in your gullet the way I probably would have ten years ago.” He shrugged. “At least I’m trying to talk. So you’re angry because he wants to marry you?”

“No,” I sighed. “I’m just…sad he didn’t tell me how he was feeling. Sad I didn’t listen.”

“Well, feelings are stupid. Are we to the part where I send you to the garden yet?”

“Ugh,” I complained. “All right, I’m not really angry about that at all, I’m just disappointed and I feel helpless.” I glanced up him. “If you thought I was in danger just now, why _didn’t_ you stick a sword in me?”

He scratched his stubble, then leaned back against his pillows. “Oh, you’ll be fine. You were doing your breathing. Sometimes people just need to get stuff off their chests, and then it’s all right. Maybe talk to somebody about it. Spend some quiet time thinking about other things, good things, if they can.” He nodded over in the corner at his equipment. “Besides, my sword’s all the way over there.”

I looked at him for a moment, then I started to cry. I cried and cried, big choking sobs, and he looked so _absolutely horrified_ that I started to laugh at the same time I was crying.

“What’s gotten into you?” he grumbled. “First you’re angry, then you’re crying, and now you’re laughing _and_ crying. Is this a…a woman thing? I don’t want to hear about woman things.”

“You were _listening_ ,” I gulped, leaning my face down on his blankets, my words muffled. “My work. All those years I spent trying to talk down those mages, trying to save those unappreciative bastards.” I sat up and cast him an accusing look. “And you complained and complained when I did it. Every. Single. Time.”

“Well,” he said, looking away. “It _did_ work. I suppose.”

“Of course it works!” I snapped, wiping off my face. “The theory is well-tested and perfectly sound.”

“The world used to feel…set in stone, Evelyn,” he moved his bandaged hand near mine, our fingers not quite touching. “Mages and Templars didn’t fraternize. Templars never _had_ to explain themselves to mages. When we came to take a child to the Circle, you…well, the parents let her go. I brought in children for a while, couldn’t handle it. Quartermaster’d issue you candy and a sword. That’s no choice.”

“Honey candies,” I whispered.

“Still can’t stand the taste of honey, and half the time you put it in my tea,” he grumbled. “And sometimes those little youngsters would take the candy, and hold your hand, looking up at you, trusting you were doing the Maker’s work. Full of love. I bet you were like that.”

“I…suppose so.”

“And sometimes those children would cry, and sometimes, they’d…explode. You never knew what you were walking into. It was a lot easier to go out and hunt them down when they were adults, treat them like animals, and not have to talk to them. But the kids—that was tougher than all the Harrowings put together.”

He paused, and sighed. “I’ll tell you this, though, girl: it was always easier when the parents just let the mage children go. We’d tell the adults that, before we came for the child, but it was hard for them to do it. ‘Let us take your kid, stay calm, no tears, and maybe nobody dies.’ I guess if you’re a parent, being able to do that takes a lot of love. Maybe. “

“Then again, lots of folks were just glad to see the little blighters gone.” He shrugged. “Ten years old or so, could you even tell the difference between love and relief and shame? Memory’s a strange thing, that’s a certainty. Maybe it’s worth finding that out about your parents, I dunno. Might help. Might not.”

I was silent for a few moments. He was right, of course. “Who’d have thought you’d get wise in your old age, Knight-Captain?”

“Mmm,” he said. “Maybe losing everyone you care about and seeing everything you believe in torn down is good for the spirit. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone, though. Well. Maybe a few assholes.”

“If suffering brings clarity,” I replied, “it stands to reason there should be a large population of wise people roaming Thedas right now. I’ve traveled all over, and that doesn’t seem to be true, unfortunately.”

“You know why I left you, and didn’t say goodbye?” He looked away. “Because I’m an asshole, too, Evelyn. I was afraid. We needed lyrium, and I knew that if we met up with other Templars, they’d kill you. And we’d already done enough to hurt you. I just thought…I just thought I’d let you go.”

He bowed his head. “So you wanna know how you can just abandon someone you love? You tell yourself ‘it’s better this way,’ convince yourself it’s for _them_ and not because you’re a spineless shit. And then you walk away.”

“Like I told you, I thought it would be better if you didn’t think I cared. I barely knew I _did_ care. And like I _also_ told you,” he grumbled, “feelings are stupid.”

“I see.” I looked at him. “Do you want to tell me about Marie?”

He let out a puff of air, scratched at his bandages. “Stupid thing. Itches. Already told you about her, a long time ago. Sometimes I go back there. I was a frightened, spineless shit. Not much else to say.”

“I remember,” I said, thinking back. “The day you found my book about Knight-Enchanters. And you gave me that longsword, said you’d teach me. You said…her entire being was honed to an incredible edge. You said she was magnificent.”

He shrugged. “She was.”

Neither of us spoke for a long time. I’d tortured him enough about his past mistakes. The window was open, a cool breeze moving about the room, and I looked out of it for a few moments. The sky above the Frostbacks was that pure blue I’ve only seen in the mountains, and a single, solitary bird rode the currents of air.

I wondered if he’d ever touched any part of her other than her spirit blade. A Knight-Enchanter weaves the sword out of her will and her magic, out of all that she is and was and will be. To have someone touch the blade…it is not sexual, just very _intimate_. Certainly not the sort of thing a Templar does to a mage. It’s hard to explain—it has to do with trust. Making a secret piece of yourself vulnerable. The only people I’d ever allowed to touch my blade were Cullen and Liam.

I wondered where this Knight-Enchanter Marie was. If she had remained in Val Royeaux, she might have been serving the Divine, and would have died at the Conclave.

I glanced back at him, and saw him looking down at the hilt of the blade. I handed it to him, and he cradled it gently in his hands. “Left Marie in Val Royeaux about twenty-five years before I met you,” he said. “And when I met you, you were...”

“I was twenty-four,” I observed.

“I know,” he sighed. “Sometimes the Maker gives you a second chance, and you still screw it up.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I said mildly. “My _real_ father never taught me anything. I can build a fire, dress a carcass. Kill a man any number of ways, both with and without a sword and dagger. I’ve fallen into the Fade twice, and survived both times without introducing a new Blight, killed six dragons and a darkspawn Magister, and closed a hole in the sky. Saved the world. You did the best you could.”

“Our life together before, Liam, it hurt.” I shook my head. “Maker, it still hurts just thinking about it. But that was the world we were given. And now we have to build a new one. Most people don’t get that chance.” I sighed. “I hope I can do it.”

“I think you did all right by me.” I paused. “I think you’re _doing_ all right by me,” I corrected. “Even if you won’t drink your tea.”

“Mmm…” he handed me the hilt. “Well, this sword is already an improvement on its predecessor. What did your…uh,” he cleared his throat, “real father teach you?”

I thought back. “He hired a lot of tutors. I learned a lot of prayers. He might have told me to sit up straight a time or two.”

Liam shook his head. “Ridiculous. Wait—six dragons? When did that happen?”

I sighed. “I try not to make a commotion out of it. Cullen gets upset.”

“Feelings,” he scoffed. “Speaking of which…” He looked at me for a moment, his eyes sharp. “Seems like you’re not all that angry about the things you think you’re angry about. Scared, hurt, maybe, but not really angry. So lemme ask you again—what’s creeping into your dreams?”

I looked him for a moment, forced myself to think critically. “Demon, blood magic, some combination thereof. Something not powerful enough to take over, but enough to ‘creep in,’ as you said, and attempt to push me in a direction by using my feelings about my interpersonal relationships. A distraction, or a disruption of my support network and the ties I have to others.”

“Sweet Andraste, I just had the most upsetting conversation with Cullen.” I rubbed my forehead. “I have to talk to him.”

“Let it be for a bit,” Liam advised. “Men need time to hit something and get drunk and complain to their friends about women. Or all three of those, really. Let him go do something dumb, let off some steam, and _then_ you talk to him.”

I frowned. “I’m leaving soon, maybe tomorrow if I can get rid of this thing in my head. I—“

“He’ll show up at some point. Told you, feelings are stupid, and that boy’s stupid for you. And he’s not a spineless shit or an asshole like certain other people.”

“Oh,” I said, unsure of what to do with myself.

“C’mon.” He pushed himself up, and started to swing his legs out of bed.

“Where are you going?” I demanded, standing up. “Are you even wearing pants?”

“Yes, I’m wearing pants, girl! I have cracked ribs and a cut-up arm. I don’t have to be in bed all day.” He stood up, wobbled a bit, then steadied himself with a hand on my shoulder. “My head is killing me, and it’s your fault. Least you can do is make me some tea and tell me about those dragons.”

“Oh…all right, then,” I said, and we slowly made our way to the front of the barracks. There were several low benches there, and I sat him down. He grumbled when I draped a blanket over his shoulders, but then adjusted it a bit and seemed to settle in.

“Evelyn,” he said, after a moment. “That dagger I gave you? You still have it?”

“Always,” I replied.

“It was hers.”

He did not speak of her again that day.

And so I made him tea without honey, and we sat in the lengthening shade in front of the Templar quarters and I told him stories about fighting dragons and he complained about any number of things. Some other Templars— _my_ Templars—walked by as we spoke, and they all saluted, and a few of them smiled at me. And Liam told them to stop being lazy and go hunt some demons. None of it’s perfect, but it’s a start.


	24. You Don't Get to See That

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

I am in the Circle—rather, I am in _a_ Circle. It is not the rounded rooms of Kinloch Hold, certainly. While I rarely entered the living areas of the Gallows, it is not that cursed place either. Tapestries line the walls in a futile effort to cut the chill of the stone. They are woven in the familiar motifs of the Free Marches, but lack the images associated with Kirkwall. As I drift through the room, I think that being surrounded by works of art filled with motifs of chains and slaves cannot have helped the Gallows ever feel like anything but a prison.

As I walk, I notice my feet make no sound on the floor. Everything is silent.

Long rows of narrow beds line the walls of the room, stretching forever in the way rooms sometimes do in dreams. But something in the world _shifts_ as soon as I notice this. The room assumes the size of a large dormitory, with space and beds for perhaps twenty people.

A young woman kneels in front of one of the bunks. She is breathing very quickly as she places items back into a small chest. First, a grimoire, then three robes, meticulously folded, then a smaller book, pressed into the top of the fabric so the lid will _just_ close.

I can only see the curve of her cheek, not her face, but I know it is Evelyn, sixteen years old and lanky. I have seen her once before, in another dream, but the slightly tattered, sky blue robe she wears is not yet crusted with blood, the back not torn to shreds. Her face is not filthy and bruised, her eye is not swollen shut, and her hair is in a long braid, not shorn close to her scalp.

Just as she replaces the final item, a door to my left slams open—at least it would have, if it had made a noise—and three Templars march into the room. Two take a position on either side of the door and another, a man bearing the insignia of the Knight-Commander, stands for a moment in the doorway. Evelyn turns, her face full of fear, and at the edge of my senses, I just barely feel the tingle of an anti-magic field.

The Templar bellows something at her, his lips moving, but his voice makes no sound.

He moves into the room and looms over her. I cannot hear the words he spits down at Evelyn, and I start when he suddenly backhands her across the face with his metal gauntlet.

The blow lands in silence, blood spatters across the floor, and she falls to the side. As she slowly pushes herself back up, he paces and rants by the bed. Obviously expecting an answer to a question I cannot hear, he stops and glares back at her.

I know what she is saying as I see her lips form the words. _Yes, Knight-Commander._

I cannot watch this. I won’t. He pulls back his arm to hit her again, but as I begin to move forward, Evelyn looks directly at me, and just for a moment, her eyes are a calm crack in a façade of terror. She shakes her head and puts her finger to her lips. I close my eyes. When I open them again, Evelyn is pushing herself to her knees, a wide gash across her cheekbone.

Another diatribe, then he leans down to grab her, and she flinches away. She sobs, tears and blood streaming down her face.

Her lips form the words. _Please don’t_ , she pleads, _not that._ But still, he picks her up by her arms and starts to shake her.

He growls something at her, spits in her face, then hits her again. It is when he starts to drag her from the room that I have had enough, despite her warning.

“No,” I say, and grab the Knight-Commander’s arm. He looks up in surprise, hisses at me, the noise echoing in the silent room and then…he disappears in a swirl of black smoke.

The room is empty. Even Evelyn has vanished, and I look at the doorway in front of me, the one the Templar was trying to drag her through. I reach for the handle, when someone wraps their cool fingers around my wrist.

I turn and she is there again, now an adult. She speaks, but still has no voice.

_No,_ she says. Her eyes are angry.

“Why not?” I ask. Even at a whisper, my voice seems like a violation in this silent place. “What’s in there?”

_You don’t get to see that,_ she says. _Not ever._

She turns her hand over—there is a flash of red instead of green and—

I awake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter to get back into the swing of things. Work's been crazy and there was this videogame I had to play. Y'all know how it is.


	25. The Appearance of Anger

 

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

I woke up with a splitting headache, a sore back, and an excellent view of all the detritus under Evelyn’s bed. I remembered staggering up the stairs to her room and looking down at her as she slept. I was still wearing my armor then, reeking of ale thanks to Rylen’s clumsiness, and I did not want to wake her. I sat down and leaned against one of her bedposts. I intended to sober up for a few minutes, then undress and climb into bed next to her.

I apparently had made it as far as the floor, where I had that terrible, violent dream. I wondered if it was mine or hers—I’ve had vivid dreams for a long time, but there’s something about Evelyn’s Anchor that connects her to the Fade. Cole pulled me in once, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she could do it herself, if she wanted to. Or perhaps it was an accident. We know so little about that thing, and I can only guess.

I looked around as I lay there on her rug, and noticed my armor was placed neatly on the stand in the corner of the room. I had a pillow under my head and a light blanket draped over me. First a stupid fight, then I can’t even get near the bed without rutting on her like an animal. To top it all off, I pass out drunk on her floor and she has to take care of me. Magnificent, Commander.

I rolled on my side with a pathetic groan, half-hoping that she was gone and would not see how miserable I was, and half-hoping that she was still there and would bring me some water. For better or worse, there was no response, and sun was streaming into the room, so I assumed she was gone. I lay there and contemplated both my horrible fate and whatever Evelyn had shoved under her bed.

There were a wadded-up piece of unidentifiable cloth, a nightgown, several scrolls, and a number of books. I looked at these books for some time as I considered simply giving up and dying. Some were mostly scholarly texts, ones like _Guarding Your Mind: How to Prevent Possession_ , _The Sword and the Staff_ , and the appropriately named _The Death of a Templar_. There were two trashy-looking novels that she’d probably gotten from Cassandra with melodramatic names like _Wutherford Heights_ and _The Tenant of Greenfell Hall_. Lying very close to me was a slim book called _Ars Amatoria_ , which I flipped open and immediately closed and tossed away. It was written in Tevene but the etchings made the subject matter very clear. Another gift from Cassandra, probably.

In my misery, I contemplated the book, now out of my reach under the bed. Evelyn had not shown any qualms about reading such a text. What was the harm in looking at it, really? I wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. So I carefully inched my hungover body halfway under the bed and reached after it, pushing some dusty scrolls out of the way in the process. The servants had evidently tried to clean under the bed, but they hadn’t gone to the trouble of sweeping all the way underneath.

I finally grabbed the book, and that’s when I saw something rust-colored on the flagstones beneath her mattress. 

My head started to throb and I felt sick to my stomach. I inched out from under the bed and made my way down to the great hall as quickly as I could. The guard standing by the Inquisitor’s quarters jumped when I slammed the door open.

“You. Get Ser Rylen. Now.” I snapped.

His jaw dropped. I must have been a mess, hair askew after a night of drinking and probably half-covered with dust.

“Is there a problem, soldier?” I shouted. “ _Go!_ ”

I wish I could say I ran back up the stairs, but it was probably more of a stagger. I drank half the water in the pitcher by Evelyn’s bed and was mostly into my armor by the time Rylen showed up.

“Where were you?” I snapped.

“Ugh,” he responded, grabbing the pitcher off the nightstand and draining the rest. “I had the worst dream last night. The Inquisitor’s right; I’m never drinking again. Let me give you a hand with that.”

I glared at him as he tightened the straps on my breastplate.

“You’re looking a little rusty here, Cullen,” he said, rapping a fist on the metal. We both winced at the noise. “My head is killing me,” he added.

“Yes, well, rust is no surprise considering you spilled an entire tankard of ale on me last night. Anyway, quit complaining,” I said. “I need you to help me move this bed.”

“All right.” He shrugged and leaned against a bedpost. “Where’s that mage with some tea when you really need her?”

“I don’t know. Not here,” I ground out. “Probably off being angry somewhere because I got drunk with my arse of a friend and passed out on her floor. Now grab that end with me, and pull.”

He lifted the frame a little, and frowned. “Can’t we get some servants to help us with this?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t want them to see what’s underneath. Just pull, don’t lift.”

So we both tugged at the bed and, slowly, it slid to the side. When we had it pulled halfway out of its original position, I grunted to Rylen to stop, and we walked around to look at the floor.

Dust, books, scrolls, and there on the flagstones were three small overlapping circles, each about the size of my hand, filed with tiny runes, all inscribed in a nauseating dark red substance that had cracked when it dried. A small amount of dust on top of them, but no other indication as to how long they’d been there.

“Fuck,” Rylen breathed. “What are they?”

I leaned down and examined the markings, then looked up at him. “Didn’t you read _anything_ in the Circle?”

Rylen shrugged. “I just fix things or I break them, depending on what’s needed.”

“The more we know about our opponent, the more we can anticipate their next move,” I argued. “Look, these runes aren’t directed at anyone in particular. I’ve never seen…I think they’re made to weaken magical warding in the area.” I looked down at my breastplate. “That explains the rust.”

Rylen raised an eyebrow. “Armor rusts if it’s wet and you don’t take care of it. You’re the strategist—explain how that’s important, again?”

“It’s important because,” I said impatiently, “this armor _doesn’t rust_. Evelyn had Dagna put a rune in it, one that, among other things, prevents rust from forming.”

“Oh,” Rylen replied. “That’s…sweet. What else does it do?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I snapped. If he learned it kept my toes warm on cold days I’d never hear the end of it. “What does matter is that if Skyhold has wards that act against antagonistic magic, this might be a way to work around that. If you were a blood mage trying to push into someone’s dreams, you’d try to weaken the Veil, but mages can sense that. But if you could weaken the protection in just one small area…”

Rylen shook his head. “But look, the Inquisitor said that other blood magic didn’t work because of Skyhold. And this stuff, well, it’s…small. I couldn’t feel it.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know enough about it to speculate, but I do know that this rune,” I tapped my armor, “isn’t working, and these circles could be pulling energy from elsewhere, maybe somewhere outside of Skyhold. If it’s not actively hurting anyone…something might be able to come through. Get closer and tell me how it feels.”

“Oh, all right,” Rylen complained, and knelt down next to the symbols. He shuddered and stood, then moved away.

“Very strong, but…not,” he said. “I can’t express…I thought I was feeling like booting all over the place because of last night and climbing the stairs up here, but it’s definitely that…thing. It doesn’t even really feel like magic, though. It’s hard to explain, but it makes me feel...worse. Can it do that?”

I shrugged. “Maybe Evelyn would know, but it doesn’t seem implausible. It’s not _doing_ anything to anyone, it’s just…poisoning the air around it. Heightening…something. I don’t know.”

He looked up at me. “We don’t know how long this has been here, but the Inquisitor’s been sleeping over this since she got back? And you too, I guess. Might not be bad at the beginning, but it would wear on you.”

“Maker.” I closed my eyes, nearly overwhelmed by what we were discussing. “We’ve been…things haven’t been good. I haven’t been happy, and I tried to talk to her about it, and it all went wrong. It was like we couldn’t understand what the other was saying, and then she—“

Rylen grabbed my shoulder. “Come on, brother, let’s get out of here.” As an afterthought, he turned back, grabbed her copy of _Guarding Your Mind,_ and tossed it on top of the rune.

“Can’t hurt,” he grinned, and I rolled my eyes. Irreverent bastard.

I let him pull me down the stairs and out the door. The guard was still stationed there, and gave me a worried glance.

“Nobody goes in or out of this room, no servants, nobody. Not even the Inquisitor,” I ordered.

“B-but Commander,” the man stammered, “what if she tells me to let her in?” It was a valid question. The last time I’d tried to order my troops to restrict her movements, Evelyn had immediately talked one of my toughest lieutenants out of it.

“Just tell her to come and find me, all right?” I lowered my voice. “Tell her I said…’Please?’” Maybe that would work.

“Err…where will you be, Ser?”

I looked at Rylen, and he looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

“Tell her we’re with the prisoner,” I said. Rylen gave me an approving grin and we set off into the courtyard.

I stepped out and squinted in the morning sun, but it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. I took a few deep breaths. I definitely had a hangover, but it was dissipating somewhat since I’d left the room. Rylen came up next to me and looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

“It wasn’t just that thing, you know,” he began. “You _were_ unhappy. I think it just made it…worse, that’s all.”

“ _That’s all?_ ” I snapped. I could have lost her. I was livid at the thought, but I tamped the emotion down until it was gone. It wouldn’t do to be emotional while interrogating a prisoner. The appearance of anger was fine, of course, but you simply could not lose control.

“It could be worse,” he shrugged. “It’s not like you were sleeping in that bed while she was gone, is it?”

I looked him.

He looked back at me. “I can imagine how I’d feel if that were my lass’s bed, brother. We don’t have to tell them, Cullen. We go in and get the information we need without involving those two…”

I actually considered it for a moment. Go in, get it done _fast_ and _right_ , then deal with the consequences later. And she would be absolutely livid. I needed to ensure that my emotions did not interfere with my duty follow her orders.

“No,” I said. “Thank you, Rylen, but she’s not just my…lass, she’s the Inquisitor. We follow her orders. She asked to be present at the interrogation, as did Grand Enchanter Fiona. We will send them a messenger on our way there.”

“All right,” he said, giving me a toothy grin. “Make it fast. Let’s see how many of that mage’s fingers I can make him _think_ I’m going to break before the Inquisitor catches up with us.”

On our way across the courtyard, I grabbed a passing runner and gave him orders to tell Grand Enchanter Fiona and the Inquisitor that they were urgently requested to meet us in Walter’s cell.

We made our way down in silence. The place was dark, but even in the dim lighting, I could see it made Samson’s accommodations look positively luxurious.

Two Templars were guarding the cell, men I knew and trusted.

“Wait for me outside,” I ordered, knowing the prisoner could probably hear me. “Disregard anything you hear. Admit only the Inquisitor and Grand Enchanter Fiona.”

They saluted and closed the heavy wooden door behind them. I unlocked the cell and Rylen and I entered.

Walter was a small man, balding slightly. He wore filthy traveling robes and was curled up in a tiny ball in the corner of the cell. I walked over to him and nudged the man with my foot.

“Up, Senior Enchanter,” I said. He did not respond.

Rylen kicked him the side. “Get up, you worthless bastard,” Rylen snapped. “Show the Commander some respect.” He reached down, grabbed the mage’s arm, and pulled.

Walter moaned and climbed to his feet, with Rylen’s none-too-gentle assistance.

“Where’s the Inquisitor?” he whined. “She should be here. I want to talk to a mage.”

Rylen backhanded him. Walter slid down the wall, his arms over his head.

“You don’t deserve to see the Inquisitor,” I informed him. “And you get into trouble when you talk to mages. That last batch were maleficarum trying to kill her.”

“Wh-what? No!” the man cried. “That’s not true!”

“You think the Commander of the Inquisition would be down here if you were just some worthless blood mage working on your own, Walter?” Rylen bent down in and whispered in his ear. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”

“You can’t do this to me!” Walter sobbed. “You’re—the Divine says Templars can’t touch us mages anymore!”

“That may be true, Walter,” I said, “but all three of us swore an oath, and while we love and revere the Divine, we serve the _Inquisition_ , not the Chantry. Tell us what you know about your accomplices. You’re a smart man—who were they working with? Did they have you enter the Inquisitor’s quarters?”

“No, no!” he whimpered. “I didn’t! I just wanted to learn, I swear—“

Rylen raised his fist and the mage scooted back into the corner, as far away from Rylen as he could get.

“It was all Leonora!” he shouted at Rylen. “All her fault! She gave me that formula to trick me! She must have been working with them!”

I looked at Rylen. “What do you think, Knight-Captain?”

Rylen scratched his stubble. “Nah. I’ve been working with her since I got back from Griffon Wing. Nice girl. Little shy, works hard. Came forward as soon as she heard Sidony and Rion were poking around. I’d trust her a lot more than Walter here.”

“You can’t trust her!” Walter wailed. “She’s a mage! You don’t trust any of us!”

“Of course we do, you daft bastard,” Rylen scoffed. “The bloody Inquisitor is a mage, and any of us would die for her. We just don’t trust worthless pieces of bronto dung like yourself.” He glanced up at me. “He’s not talking, Commander. What do you want me to do? I could break all of his fingers, or we could just…cut out the middle man. We need that information now.”

He was right. They had somehow made it into the Inquisitor’s quarters to strike at her, and I’d seen the results firsthand. This had to stop.

“You know, Walter, maybe if you weren’t so _afraid_ , you’d be willing to tell us everything that you know,” I began. I hated this, hated playing this evil game, wearing this mask. But someone had tried to take Evelyn away from me, was trying to hurt her, and so I did what I had to do to get the information. I told myself I’d settle up with the Maker later, when Evelyn was safe.

As I write this, I know I should not have been in that room. I had left this life behind, and there I was, falling back into the usual rhythms.

“It’s true,” Rylen added. “You’re very _emotional_ right now.”

“Oh no. No, no, no! Please, I’d rather die, anything but that!” he wept. “Please, the Inquisitor would never let you do that to me!”

“Last I checked, the Inquisitor isn’t here,” Rylen snarled. “Tell us what you know.”

The door behind Rylen swung open, and Evelyn stepped in. She knows how to make an entrance; that is for certain. She was wearing lightly armored, ice-blue robes, her hair up in some kind of intricate braid off her neck. She tossed some fireflies into the air and they danced above her head. Seeing her in that filthy place made my chest hurt. Compared to the dirt and darkness of the cell, she looked like Holy Andraste herself.

It had to have been deliberate, but I still wanted to drop to my knees. I covered my awe by pulling myself up to my full height and giving her a formal salute.

“Here I am, Commander, Knight-Captain,” she said, her calm voice reverberating in the small room.

“Herald!” Walter scrabbled to the front of the cell and pulled himself to his knees using the bars. “These Templars—they were threatening me! They want to make me Tranquil.”

She looked at me with her beautiful, clear green eyes, and asked, “Is this this true, Commander?”

“Absolutely,” I replied immediately. “This man has been working with blood mages who have been threatening your life. We have definitive proof.” Would she know what we were doing? What _were_ we doing? Would it be worth it if she looked at me in disgust afterwards? If she were safe…it doesn’t matter now, I suppose. It happened.

She stepped forward, close to the bars of the cell. “Senior Enchanter Walter. You had to have known this would happen.”

He reached through the bars of the cell—I twitched but Evelyn caught my eye and I stopped myself in time—and grabbed the hem of her robe.

“Please don’t let him,” he whispered. “You know what it’s like. Just kill me instead. You do it, not them. Just…not that, please.”

She looked down and sighed. “As you might know, Senior Enchanter, my Commander is very…protective of me. He might have gotten a bit _emotional_ himself. Your accomplices are dead, so you have no one to protect but yourself. Perhaps if you told us what you know...”

“I—I can’t, Your Worship,” he choked. “I don’t know anything.”

She cocked her head at him. “A Senior Enchanter who doesn’t know anything?” she said. “You study abjuration, do you not? Tell me a bit about your research.”

His mouth fell open. “I—I...”

“I read the critique you wrote about some of the classic wards and protections in _Guarding Your Mind_. I’m always interested in seeing what qualified researchers have to say in response to the seminal texts. I confess that I was only able to read about half of it before the book was banned from the Ostwick library and it was confiscated.”

“You…read…it?” He gasped.

“Why was it banned?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Senior Enchanter Walter has one of those minds that excels at dismantling things. He observed weaknesses in several of the traditional warding spells and pointed out ways they could be weakened, broken, or even subverted. As you might imagine, the powers that be were not particularly amused, and all the copies were destroyed.”

He gripped her skirt. “I kept one,” he whispered. “It was in my bag when I left. They were so interested in my work. They read the whole thing, then asked me to go with them the next time they came. Said I could help them in Kirkwall. I knew other mages who’d gone with them, so it seemed fine. Safe. They weren’t…prejudiced like those bastards that burned my book.”

“They weren’t free-thinkers, Walter,” she shook her head, “they were blood mages. There is a difference. Someone was murdered at Skyhold right before you left with them. Were you involved in that?”

“No!” Walter cried, grabbing large fistfuls of Evelyn’s robe. I glared at him and stepped forward, and he flinched and dropped the fabric.

“It wasn’t me! I swear by the Maker and the Holy Andraste! They said…they said they had someone else here, someone who kept an eye out for talented mages. It could have been them, but I swear it wasn’t me! I haven’t killed anyone,” he wept. “You have to believe me.”

Evelyn sighed. “Your work really was brilliant, Walter, but you need to learn some patience. I will believe you when you give the Inquisition more reason to believe you, but not until then. You also should have gotten more information about your traveling companions before you left with them, but we will take what you can give, especially the names of the other mages who left with the merchants last time they were here.”

She walked away from the cell, then turned back and shot him a sharp look.

“And really,” she added, “you _also_ should have found a research partner for your findings. You could have proposed changes and alterations to the protection spells you were able to break instead of just announcing they were broken. Templars hate it when you break things and don’t fix them.”

He buried his head in his hands. “Blood mages. And now they’ll get to me, and they’ll kill me, but I don’t care. I’ll give you whatever you want to know. Just don’t let those monsters make me Tranquil, please, Your Worship.”

She floated back to the bars of the cell, her robes swirling around her feet. “Thank you, Walter. We’ll try to protect you, especially if you have an idea of how they might strike at you. I’d still like for you to give us the names you can remember of the other mages they recruited.” She reached through the bars and placed her hand on his head. “I can’t make any other promises to you, but do I swear, whatever happens, we won’t ever make you Tranquil, Walter.”

He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his face. “Thank you, Your Worship. I’m sorry…I’m sorry I didn’t stay. They said they needed us there. That we wouldn’t have to work with Templars. No rules, just…” He released her fingers and wiped his face. “The Commander said they were trying to kill you. I really didn’t know, I swear.”

“I know,” she sighed, and removed her hand. “Goodbye, Walter.”

“Give the information to your guards, Walter,” I said, “and we’ll do our best to see that you’re kept safe.”

The prisoner nodded, and sank down into the filthy hay covering the floor of the cell.

I turned to Rylen. “Have a mage posted down here with the Templar guards. I don’t want the Inquisition mages to feel like they’re being persecuted by the Templars again. We are all acting on behalf of the Inquisition to protect the Inquisitor and investigate Stephan’s murder, and nothing else.”

“Aye, Commander,” Rylen nodded, and we followed Evelyn up out of the cells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several rather long chapters coming up, so updates might be a bit more intermittent than usual. I'm still plugging along, though.


	26. I Bled a Man Dry

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan’s personal journal:_

No luck last night. I found the intruder in my dreams, but unfortunately, Cullen was also pulled into the Fade somehow, and disrupted the creature before I could strike. It fled, and I could not find it. I don’t know why he was there, exactly, but it must have had something to do with the Anchor. Perhaps my dreams are simply more susceptible to intrusion at the moment, and since it turns out he was sleeping on the floor near me, he might have simply been pulled in due to proximity.

I just don’t know. This…thing…attached to me has so many mysteries. I’ve been told it’s both key and needle, but what else is it capable of? I know so little about that orb it came from, and now that Solas is gone, I have no way of finding out.

As it is, I awoke before Cullen, who, as Liam had predicted, had gotten drunk and passed out on my floor. I got him out of his armor, threw away the quarter of a baguette and flattened piece of cheese he’d apparently stuffed into his breastplate, and gave him a pillow and blanket. His boots were soaked with some form of alcohol, so I had the servants fetch me another pair from his quarters and carry the smelly ones away to be cleaned. Afterwards, I went down to the training grounds to check on Liam and the Knight-Enchanters.

All seemed to be going well. They are finishing up their week of close combat, and their skills have improved significantly under Liam’s skeptical eye. Leonora was there. She looked as if she wished to speak to me, but Liam kicked her legs out from under her while she was distracted. I motioned for them to continue, and found myself a place in the shade to read.

Cassandra had sent me a few interesting documents found in the small bag of personal possessions Walter had taken on his short trip, one of which was a rather large treatise. I sent a runner to the Skyhold librarians to see if we had any further information about the book, and began to flip through it. The writing was boring, pretentious, and positively turgid.

After about an hour or so, the messenger arrived with some useful tidbits—what I was reading was actually a banned book, recalled from the Circles due to "subversive content"—and departed. I was about halfway through the text, just skimming, when my stomach rumbled, and I started back up the hill.

After grabbing a small pie, I returned to my quarters to check on Cullen. I know he said he didn’t want to talk anymore, but I thought perhaps I might at least bring him some lunch as a way to show him I care. I don’t know how to move forward from this. I feel like I am…paralyzed, somehow. He said he doesn't want to talk. All the ways I know to deal with my problems are suddenly taken off the table.

Or…are they? Is that _really_ what he said to me? It seemed so clear at the time, but now, after talking to Liam, I am suspicious of my emotional reaction to almost everything that has happened to me over the past few months. What is valid and what is not? A dangerous path of thought to go down, but necessary if demons are involved. It’s just a theory, but Liam agreed something was wrong, too. I’d give more credence to our theories than some people’s facts.

There was a guard posted at my door, who nervously told me that my room was off limits. The Commander was apparently with the prisoner, and had requested my presence there.

“He said to say, ‘Please?’” the guard added sheepishly.

I turned around to find the messenger I’d spoken to before, red-faced and huffing.

“Your Worship,” she wheezed. “I thought you were down at the training grounds! Commander Cullen needs you immediately. There’s been an emergency. He’s—“

“With the prisoner? I know,” I said, waving my hand in dismissal and jogging out of the room. Something was obviously wrong, so I hurried down to the cell to investigate. There were two guards stationed at the door, and as they stepped aside, I could hear the conversation echo in the room ahead.

The prisoner was crying. “You can’t trust her! She’s a mage! You don’t trust any of us!”

“Of course we do, you daft bastard,” I heard Rylen reply. “The Inquisitor is a mage. We just don’t trust worthless pieces of bronto dung like yourself. He’s not talking, Commander. What do you want me to do? I could break all of his fingers, or we could just…cut out the middle man. We need that information now.”

I felt sick to my stomach. I knew what was coming. Everyone listening, the guards, Cullen, Rylen, Walter. We all knew this is how it goes. How it _went_. After this time, it was over.

Cullen drawled, “You know, Walter, maybe if you weren’t so afraid, you’d be willing to tell us everything that you know.” 

Rylen chimed in. “It’s true. You’re very emotional right now.”

“Oh no. No, no, no! Please, I’d rather die, anything but that!” Walter was weeping now. “Please, the Inquisitor would never let you do that to me!”

The Templar guards at the door looked in every direction but at me. I sighed. Idiots, all of them.

“Yes, Your Worship?” one of them whispered.

“Why does it always have to go this way, Knight-Corporal?” I murmured, and he looked away again. I twisted my braid up and tucked it around itself, and straightened my robes. Taking a deep breath, I pulled a veneer of calm confidence over myself. I exhaled, and I was ready.

I reached forward and pushed the door open, just as Rylen was saying, “Last I checked, the Inquisitor isn’t here.”

But, there I was. The room was dark, so I sprinkled some mage lights up and went inside. Walter obviously wasn’t going to talk to any of them, but I knew I could get him to open up to me if I played it just right. I didn't have to do it like the Templars, did I? There has to be a better way, there has to.

So I thought about that room full of blood, and the way it smelled. I thought about how they’d tortured poor Stephan, a man who did his job with empathy and pride. The kind of man who felt sorry for Samson. Stephan would probably have felt sorry for Walter, too, but Stephan was dead and Walter had information that I needed to find the killer.

So Walter begged and cried some more, and I, Evelyn Trevelyan, Knight-Enchanter, Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor, woman, mage, weapon, wondered for a moment if I had to go along with these…Templars…and threaten a mage with Tranquility.

I didn’t, of course. I am not really fire, burning without discrimination. I have always been the sharp edge of a blade, and with a few precise cuts, I bled a man dry, and at the end of it all, he thanked me.

I touched him, because I needed to see that he was real. I promised him I’d never make him Tranquil. I tried to promise myself I’d never do it, not to any mage. And the poor bastard looked up at me like I was Andraste Herself, and believed me.

I walked out of the room in a daze, and decided to head to my quarters. I should have stayed to discuss the interrogation, but I waned to rest and…think. Cullen and Rylen are who they are, and on the whole they are good men, but I need to not look at them for a while.

“Evelyn!”

“Inquisitor!”

Cullen and Rylen jogged up to me and then winced, almost in unison. Hungover. I felt unsympathetic.

“The herbs are in Cullen’s drawer where they usually are,” I told them. “Make your own tea. Don’t double the dose or it will be too bitter. I…need some time to myself. I’m not thinking clearly right now.”

They looked at each other.

“What’s wrong with my room?” I sighed.

“There was something…surprising under your bed,” Cullen said, looking extremely uncomfortable. “I was looking at a book and then…I want you to take a look at it.”

“We’d…like to discuss it with you, Inquisitor,” Rylen added. “Come back to the room?”

I looked at them both. Under my bed? The only thing of note there was…

“ _Really_?” I asked. “All three of us. You want to talk about this _right now_?”

They both nodded.

“Perhaps somewhere less public, though,” Cullen added.

I threw my hands in the air. “Of all the inappropriate—” I turned to Rylen. “Rylen, I don’t know what, exactly, Cullen showed you in that book, but I’m afraid the answer is no. You are a very nice man, but I am not interested in supplementing things that way. As for _you_ ,” I turned to Cullen, who had started to stammer and turn a horrible mottled shade of red, “oh, never mind. I’ll deal with you later. I’m angry with you _both_ , but for right now, just leave me alone.”

I turned and walked away. Behind me, I heard Rylen burst into laughter. I heard a thump, he stopped laughing, and then Cullen was hurrying to catch up with me.

He grabbed my arm. I turned around. Rylen was doubled over, clutching his stomach and coughing.

“Evelyn,” Cullen said in a low voice, looking around the courtyard to make sure we were not overheard. “We found some kind of blood magic under your bed. It’s…I’ve never seen anything like it. I can’t blame it for everything but I think it’s…I don’t know.”

“Oh! That’s not…hmm. It would have to be something…” My mind raced. “Something neither of us could feel. Nothing direct, nothing that would weaken the Veil. What was it you said about the love potion? Something to make people ‘susceptible to suggestion or manipulation.’ Combined with Walter’s expertise in subverting protective spells…”

He was nodding, looking extremely relieved. “Let me show it to you. Just…be careful, all right? Last night…that was too close.” His fingers closed over mine. “ _I won’t lose you_.”

Rylen sidled up to us. “You got that worked out?” he drawled.

“Yes,” I replied. “And I’m sorry if what I said hurt your feelings, Rylen. You really are very nice, even if you are an idiot sometimes.” I pulled on Cullen’s hand. “Let’s go.”

Rylen opened his mouth, and Cullen glared at him.

“Yes, Inquisitor,” Rylen murmured, and we made our way up into my chambers.

My bed was pulled out of place, and Cullen kicked a book out of the way to reveal three small circles inscribed in blood. I examined them closely, tracing my finger over them so I could reproduce them later if necessary.

“Look at the layer of dust on this,” I knelt down and pressed my face against the floor, looking at the sigils from the side. “I wish the book hadn’t ended up on top of it. Still, I’d estimate these have been here for a few weeks, at least.”

I got up, walked around the bed, and picked up the pitcher of water. It was empty.

“Rylen, would you go fill this up and bring it back?” I asked. He took the pitcher with a nod and left.

“I suppose we’re lucky we were only sleeping in this bed this week,” I said to Cullen. “It’s doing something to the room, you’re right.”

“When I woke up this morning, I had rust on my armor.” He cleared his throat. “And…sometimes when you’re gone, I sleep in your bed. It’s…nice.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “That’s…well, that’s bad, but also that’s very sweet!” I grabbed his hands and gave him the biggest smile I could muster given the circumstances. Things had been so complicated between us, and it was such a simple declaration of his affection for me. He was an idiot, and I was still angry at him, but he was still the same man he’d always ben. It made me feel a bit better.

He cleared his throat. “I think whatever that thing is, it’s cancelling magical protections, and making everyone around it feel…worse, almost. Once I identified it, I went outside and I could feel the difference. It’s like it’s slowly poisoning the air in here. Does that make sense?”

“That seems like a possibility.” I released one of his hands and pointed at the circles. “I was expecting something along these lines to show up somewhere, although I was only able to make observations about the effects, not the cause, so it was all speculation. Based on a few of the runes, I think it’s just distorting the protections instead of eliminating them completely. I’d have to look at Walter’s book and the recipe for the 'love potion' to see if this is what I think it is.”

“I thought you’d read his book?” Cullen asked.

I shrugged. “I lied. He had it in his personal possessions and I looked it over briefly this morning. His writing really is terrible.”

“You…lied?”

“It was an interrogation. I was appealing to his large ego.” I shrugged. “Mages love it if you act interested in their research.”

“Is that so?” he said vaguely.

“Certainly. The first time we really spoke, I remember that you listened very attentively to some of my theories about the Breach.”

“Oh, er…really?”

“No,” I squeezed his hand. “About halfway through the conversation I noticed how handsome you were, and I started babbling like an idiot. You just stood there and looked at me like I was crazy, and then Rylen came and gave you some flimsy excuse to run away.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “That certainly is closer to what I remember, actually. But you left out the part where I saw your smile and realized I was in very deep trouble.”

“Oh, really?” I smiled.

“Yes, just like that,” he rumbled. He raised my hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across my knuckles.

“We should…get back to work,” he said with a sigh.

“Mmm,” I replied. “At any rate, this magic might have changed things enough for something to…creep through, if you will, but not enough for it to be truly noticeable. Blood magic is obvious when someone starts stabbing their loved ones. Nobody looks for it if they’re feeling a bit lower or grouchier than usual.”

He scowled. “But if two people were to get into an argument…”

“It might escalate,” I nodded. “I need to examine Leona’s formula and Walter’s book, but I think they are related. I would surmise that being near this magic weakens Skyhold’s protection, and also makes people just a little more susceptible to certain kinds of feelings.”

“My…cravings get worse when you are gone.” He swallowed. “It’s…been more intense, recently.”

“Oh, my dearest,” I wrapped my arms around his waist and lay my head on his breastplate. I know he dislikes admitting to any weakness. He slid an arm around my waist, lay his cheek on top of my head, and sighed. “Despite all this, I know your problems are real and we’ll…well, maybe we won’t talk about it, but we’ll find a way to work on it somehow, all right? I’ll try not to make a thousand plans and will just follow your lead.”

Rylen walked in the door with the pitcher, but Cullen didn’t step away. He looked down at me, an odd expression on his face. “Why wouldn’t we talk about it?” he asked.

I patted his breastplate. “Later,” I said, and I took the pitcher from Rylen. “Let me get rid of this thing.”

“Is that safe?” Rylen asked.

“Should be,” I shrugged. “I can’t feel anything about it that indicates otherwise. Can you?”

He shook his head. “All I can tell is that it’s making my hangover worse.”

A little water on the floor and a wipe with a clean cloth, and the blood was gone. I smiled up at them, relieved it was gone.

“It’s been a while since I scrubbed a floor with a pair of Templars watching me,” I joked. They didn’t laugh.

I lit the cloth on fire and tossed it into the fireplace, where we all watched it burn to cinders.

“All right,” I sighed. “Back to business. Rylen, can you go get the rest of that information from Walter? Be civilized for once. Oh, but first, see if you can catch up with Fiona. Send her my utmost apologies for not including her, and let her know that the Commander has ordered the prisoner also be guarded by a mage to avoid any appearance of Templar bias. Make it sound nice. Tell her I’ll drop by to see her this afternoon if she’s available.”

He nodded. “Anything else, Inquisitor?”

“One last thing, so pay attention.” I folded my arms. “I don’t appreciate you two going off like a pair of idiots to interrogate Walter on your own and sending a messenger as an afterthought. You should have waited. Fiona and I were supposed to be there, and you knew that.”

“Not only that, but you put me in a terrible position in that cell, playing your little Templar interrogation games. I heard you threaten to make a man Tranquil, and the thought of that makes me _sick_.”

I pointed a finger at both of them. “Now, I’m going to tell myself that you wouldn’t have really done it, because I have to live with both of you. But I know for a fact that for most of your adult lives you’ve had it drilled into your head that Tranquility is a ‘mercy.’ It is not. I cannot impart to you how horrifying the idea is to a mage, how it feels to have that hanging over your head your entire life. You will do anything, _anything_ , to avoid it, and the Templars know that.”

“You two know that it has power, or you wouldn’t have used it to threaten Walter. What some people did with that power was repulsive, and I will thank you to remember _that_ the next time you consider threatening a mage, any mage, with that fate. Because the Rite of Tranquility also damaged the Templars, and if you can’t see that, now that you have some distance from it, you need to spend some time thinking it over.”

“And now I’m going to have to convince Fiona that I didn’t act in bad faith to shut her out. We are on the edge here, gentlemen, and things could fall apart very quickly if we aren’t careful. _I do things for a reason_ , and I asked to be there because I could have handled that interrogation with Fiona. I get results, and I don’t feel like I have to take a bath afterwards. If you don’t believe me, then ask Knight-Captain Liam.”

I uncrossed my arms. “End of speech. Think about it and if you have questions or objections later, you know where to find me. Now go away. I really do need to take a bath.”

I got two “Yes, Inquisitors,” and Rylen headed for the door. He hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Cullen, who gave the Knight-Captain some kind of look. Rylen nodded and left.

Cullen cleared his throat. “Inquisitor,” he began, then stopped.

“Evelyn,” he began again carefully.

I cocked my head at him. What did he want? I felt guilty for having destroyed our earlier rapport with a lecture, but it needed to be said.

“I would feel better if—I know you are angry and that things between us are not—“

I waited patiently.

“Would you stay in my room instead of here?” he blurted.

“I—“

“I’ll stay in the barracks,” he offered, his eyes earnest. “Or sleep downstairs. I just want you safe.”

I thought about it. It didn’t exactly make logical sense, but it was at least one way I could show him that his concerns and priorities were important to me. I smiled at him. “Yes and no. Yes, I’ll stay with you if it’s important. No, I don’t need you to stay in the barracks or sleep under your desk.”

“Good.” He released the breath he was holding.

“But I don’t know how I’ll take a bath. I’m not asking anyone to haul buckets up a ladder, and your office has no privacy.”

“I’ll lock the doors,” he said. “I can use Solas’s old space if I need to. Please?”

“All right,” I smiled. “Let me grab some things.”

I bent down and picked up a book, and he immediately took it from me.

“Let me help you,” he offered.

“If you’d like,” I shrugged. “I won’t say no to a handsome man carrying my books.”

So he helped me haul some of my possessions over to his office. A few nobles drifting around the great hall stared, but I didn’t really care. I don’t know if the Maker had been smiling on me or Josephine had been working miracles, but I hadn’t been nagged by either of my parents or the stupid prince since the banquet. Probably Josephine, to be honest.

Sticking to his word, Cullen moved a large armful of his papers and general whatnots over to the main hall, and I had a very nice bath in his office. When the servants came to take it away, they also brought a midday meal, so I have managed to have some time to myself, to write in my journal and begin to process everything that has happened.

There is still at least one person here at Skyhold linked to the blood magic, and they have proven themselves to be very adept at this game they are playing. They must be found, but I also must deal with the demon and leave for the Frostback Basin as soon as possible. I am worried the situation with the renegade Avvar will escalate while I am not there to deal with it, and Stone-Bear Hold is counting on Inquisition assistance.

But for now, I am off to apologize to Fiona, which is probably what I deserve after scolding her the other day.

Addendum: That went about as well as expected. We both blustered at each other for a while until we were satisfied the appropriate amount of blustering had been done. For all that I was suitably chastised by her, I was so happy to see her confidence finally returning. The mages need a leader so badly, and it simply cannot be me.

When I returned to Cullen’s office, someone had left a tiny bouquet of flowers on the desk. Nothing fancy, just some of the small violets that grow in the grove outside Skyhold. They were slightly bruised, and absolutely lovely.


	27. You Gotta Do Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about slowish updates, y'all. My job's been crazy.
> 
> This chapter is some fluff I considered tossing but you can have it to tide you over. More substantial updates coming later this week if all goes well.

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

 

After I finished helping Evelyn, Rylen was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs in the courtyard. He was leaning against the wall and squinting suspiciously at the sun.

“I found Fiona,” he said. “I thought she was going to box my ears. Said I was an impulsive arse. She’s probably saving the good stuff up for the Inquisitor.”

He glanced at me. “You think what she said was true?”

“Well,” I said, “I don’t think you’re _that_ impulsive, personally.”

That earned me a sour look. “You know what I meant, Commander.”

“Does it matter?” I shrugged. “She’s the Inquisitor. She says to do it differently, we do it differently. Orders are orders.”

“Aye, but that’s what got us into this trouble in the first place, isn’t it? Taking what you’re told and swallowing it whole.”

“She’s not Meredith, Rylen.”

“Well, you're biased, _Cullen_. You weren’t sleeping with Meredith. Speaking of which, what was that book the Inquisitor was talking about before she so graciously turned me down?”

“Take a walk with me on the battlements and I’ll tell you all about it,” I growled.

He sighed. "Honestly, do you think making mages Tranquil was really wrong? We were saving lives.”

“The Inquisitor seems to think we should no longer perform the Rite. That's good enough for me.”

He gave my shoulder a push. “I know what the Inquisitor thinks, you stubborn bastard, I’m asking what _you_ think.”

I sighed and lowered my voice. “The truth is, Rylen, I don’t know. My brilliant ideas for reform were Circles with mixed military service and healers’ clinics. You can see how well that went over.”

“But you told her that and it didn’t make any difference.”

“I don’t know…she gave half the courtyard to the healers and started instituting our mixed mage-Templar military units. The mages do seem to enjoy participating in both.”

“That’s something, I suppose,” he grunted.

“I’m starting to think it’s everything, Rylen. If we can’t make mages Tranquil, we’re going to need the Templars more than ever. But those Templars are going to have to work on equal footing with the mages for the whole thing to function. It’s not what I would have chosen. You know I'm not a radical, but you can't claim the other system was working well, can you?”

“Aye, that’s for certain. It’s not what I expected. From the Divine, yes, but not the Inquisitor, I suppose. You’d think a mage would want to tear the whole thing down, get rid of us, but instead, she’s just reshuffling the pieces. And she feels…sorry for Templars? Says the Rite hurt us too? You think it's true? I don’t know what to do with that.”

“I don’t know either.” I cleared my throat. “When I…dream, the bad ones, the nightmares—sometimes they’re about…Haven and…other things.”

“I know.” Rylen swallowed. “The worst things.”

We stood there for a second in silence. We didn’t look at each other.

“Sometimes—“ I stopped. Didn’t continue.

He glanced at me ruefully. “Me too. I guess that answers my question, doesn’t it?”

“I should get back to work, Commander.” He pushed himself off the wall and squared his shoulders. He gave me a quick salute and then added, “Meet me at the Herald’s Rest this evening for a quick ale?”

I nodded. “I’ll see what I can do, Knight-Captain.”

On a whim, I took a quick walk outside the walls and gathered up a few flowers for Evelyn. When I saw her leaving my office, probably to meet with Fiona, I left them on the desk. I hoped they would cheer her up after her meeting.

After checking our defenses on the battlements, I went back and worked in my makeshift office for quite some time. I was surprised to see it was well past sunset when I emerged. I looked up at the windows of my bedroom and thought about going to see Evelyn, and then I…didn’t. She’d said I was welcome, but my stomach was still in knots thinking about what she’d overheard me say. I told myself I would have one ale with Rylen, and then go.

When I walked into the tavern, I was hailed by a chorus of hearty “Commanders!” and raised tankards. I’d been able to slip in unnoticed before, even after we’d beaten Corypheus. I wondered what had caused the change.

I found Rylen, who was already well on his way to drunk. Sitting across from him was Knight-Captain Liam. Neither of them had seen me. I considered fleeing for one dishonorable moment, but I decided to attempt to extricate my friend. I sat down at their table and nodded to them both. Rylen took a large swig of ale and made a face at me.

“I thought you were never going to drink again,” I observed.

“Just something to pass the time while Ser Liam dispenses wisdom,” Rylen observed.

“Worse things to do than drink alcohol. Never got dysentery from beer,” Liam noted. “Well, that’s not entirely true, but close enough.”

The barmaid brought me a drink.

“It’s on the house,” she said, giving me a wink and a saucy swish of her hips as she turned away.

“Thank…you?” I said, and turned back to the others.

“Oh, the ladies love you, don’t they, Commander?” Liam observed.

I ignored him. “There’s a barmaid?” I asked Rylen. “I always had to order my drinks at the bar.”

“Aye,” Rylen said with a shrug. "Everyone loves you after--"

“Your Knight-Captain here was just telling me about your interrogation today,” Liam interrupted.

“Is that what I was doing?" my friend shot back. "As I recall, you sat down uninvited and started to tell me I was an idiot."

Liam waved his hand. “You already knew that. Just making small talk. It’s polite. Anyway, I hauled that sack of dung Walter in, so the least you can do is to tell me how it went.”

“We were able to get some valuable information from him, I think,” I said, and sketched out the results so far. “We may ask Evelyn to handle speaking to him in the future. They appear to have established some kind of…rapport.”

“Ugh,” Liam groaned. “Sickening, isn’t it?”

“It worked,” I shrugged. “That’s what counts.”

“Of course it worked,” he snapped. “That’s what’s sickening about it. She’d push and pry and talk about feelings and the nastiest maleficarum would eventually spill everything. They'd be best friends by the end.”

“Well that’s bloody great,” Rylen replied, “but then what do you do when you’re suddenly best friends with a blood mage?”

“Try to talk me out of making ‘em Tranquil, that’s what.” He shook his head.

'And what did she expect you to do after that," i asked, "when you’ve still got a maleficar on your hands?”

“She’d write these incredibly boring reports recommending that the mage either be ‘rehabilitated’ or executed. Depends on whether she thought they could be trusted again in the future. She’d come up with a plan, mostly for mages who just escaped and didn’t do blood magic. Didn’t work too bad, really. Most of ‘em went back to the Circle and settled down a bit more.”

“Aye, but what about the maleficarum?” Rylen asked. “You can’t just…’rehabilitate’ that.”

Liam chuckled. “See, you think the way she does it is soft, but it’s not. She’d try to talk me _out of_ making most blood mages Tranquil and talk me _into_ just killing them outright. Offered to do it herself, most times.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s…what did you do?”

“Whatever I wanted to, boy,” he snapped. “I wasn’t in the business of listening to mages.”

He scratched his stubble a bit. “You get tired of it after a while, though. You kill people, that's hard. They’re gone. You gotta deal with what you did, make sure you didn't get it wrong, and that’s between you and the Maker. Tranquil? You can get sloppy because you tell yourself they're not dead. But then they just hang around all creepy, looking at you.” He scowled up at the balcony of the tavern. “Least the Tranquil mind their own business, unlike that weird kid. Don't wanna talk about feelings 'cause they don't have any.”

“Anyway, none of that matters now." He took a long swig out of his tankard. "Commander, I wanna look into those mages you said left a while ago. I got a feeling that they might not have made it that far. I’m gonna take a bit of a walk tomorrow, bring a couple decent folks with me and hunt around outside Skyhold a bit.”

Rylen cleared his throat. “With the Commander’s permission, correct, Knight-Captain?”

“Well, I just told him about it, didn’t I?” Liam huffed.

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea, Liam,” I said. I had no desire to play his games. He’d gotten quick results bringing in Walter, and that was good enough for me. Also, if he was outside of Skyhold, he wouldn’t be bothering me. Evidently he'd branched out to harassing Rylen, too, so I could do my friend a favor as well.

“Of course it is,” he snapped, and stood. “I got something else to talk to you about, Commander, but it’s private. Won’t take a minute. Step outside with me?”

“Very well, but—“ I began, when I was interrupted by an enormous presence looming over my shoulder.

“Commander,” the Iron Bull boomed. “Leaving so soon? I demand a rematch. And no hiding behind your armor this time.”

“I suppose you’ll have need of my services, then,” Dorian sighed from behind the Qunari. “Allow me to say, for the second evening in a row, that this is extremely stupid.”

“The Commander is not going to wrestle you again, Bull,” Rylen said. “And lower your voice. We’ve both got hangovers.”

Liam crossed his arms and glared at me. I ignored him.

“A hangover?” Bull laughed. “Never heard of it!”

“I realize this must be a foreign concept to you,” Dorian observed. “It happens sometimes to those of us who aren’t used to drinking cheap swill and don’t actually _live in a bar_.”

“Come on, Commander,” wheedled Iron Bull. “If you lose, I’ll go with you. It will be _awesome_. We don’t even have to aim at the treeline this time.”

“No,” Dorian declared. “That’s not what barriers are for, and I cannot be convinced because I know for a fact that I finished the only potable brandy in all of Skyhold last night.”

“I suppose _that’s_ why you were spending half the afternoon calibrating the trebuchet, Commander,” Liam grumbled.

“Oh, come _on!_  Let me win back my dignity. Arm wrestle?” Bull wheedled.

“No,” I snapped. “Go away.”

Bull narrowed his eye at me. “This isn’t over, Commander.”

“No,” I sighed, “somehow I figured that out.”

Bull thumped away, and Dorian gave me a wink and followed.

“You don’t remember any of that, do you?” Rylen asked.

“Of course I do,” I lied. I drained my tankard and stood up. “Don’t drink too much, Knight-Captain, especially after today. Get some sleep, soon if you can.”

He stared mournfully into his ale and pushed it away. “You’re right, as always, Commander. See you tomorrow.”

“You done _now_?” Liam asked, his voice suspiciously sweet. I nodded.

We headed towards the door. Sera slunk by me, shooting me a furious glare.

“My cheese,” she snarled. “I know you took it. It was my favorite.” And then she poured half a tankard of ale on my boots. 

I rolled my eyes and kept walking.

“Come back here and be pissed off!” I heard her yell as I closed the door behind me.

I headed for the barracks, and Liam fell in beside me.

“I got one thing to say to you,” he began. “And it’s about Evelyn, so listen up.”

“My personal life is none of your concern, Knight-Captain,” I shot back. “Leave it be. I’m your commanding officer, since you have obviously forgotten, and that’s an order.”

Liam spat on the ground. “This is personal, boy, and you know it. Got nothing to do with the Inquisition. Evelyn came to see me, all ugly and puffy ‘cause she’d been crying. She tries to hide it, but I can spot it real easy because I’ve seen it more times than I’d care to admit. I’m trying to spend the rest of the time I got left making that up to her, Maker help me.”

“But you listen good.” He stabbed a finger at my chest. “Nobody gets to make Evelyn cry, not anymore. Not you, not me, _nobody_. I full know well there’s nasty business happening around here, but it doesn’t matter. I don't care if there’s a _demon_ coming out your _arse,_  you clench your cheeks and you smile at that girl and you make sure she’s happy.”

"Look." He put a hand on my shoulder, and his eyes grew suspiciously bleary. “You gotta do better than me, son. Big part of me wants to threaten to cut your balls off if you hurt her again, but we both know that’s just stupid bluster. All I’m trying to say is…I know you chose a tough road for yourself, the toughest, and I respect that, I do. But if she’s crying, you gotta do better. That’s all.”

“I—“

He held up his hand. “I said my piece. I know you’ll do it. You're a good man, even if you are an idiot sometimes. It’s just when she shows up all snotty and red like that, I remember…ugh, I’m getting old and sentimental.” He swiped at his eyes. “I gotta go, Commander. My head is killing me and I wanna head out early tomorrow. Gets worse if I don't keep busy.”

“Take who you need, Knight-Captain,” I nodded. If he was done talking about this, so was I. “Bring along a mage or two. It’ll toughen them up.”

“I already got a couple in mind. Night, Commander. Behave yourself,” he added, and stomped off.

I had considered simply spending the night in the barracks. But after the past few days—I spent a few minutes writing in my journal. Trying to sort through my thoughts and decide what to do. I hate to admit it, but Liam is right. I need to do better.

Suddenly, I noticed Cole was sitting in a chair next to me, acting for all the world like he’d been there the whole time. 

“Andraste's—" I may have jumped. "I didn't see you there, Cole!”

 “She said—wait, no. That’s not how you do it. Start over. Hello, Cullen,” he said in his vague voice.

“Hello, Cole,” I sighed. “What do you need?”

“You don’t get to see that. Not ever. But she’s going there again tonight. She doesn’t need _me_ to hold her hand, not anymore. She needs _you_. You should go with her.” He thought for a moment. “But maybe not _right_ away.”

He looked down. “Maker, these reek. I’ll have to send for another pair before he wakes up. And why is there food in his breastplate?” He paused. “Change your boots before you go. Maybe take a bath. She'll like that. She notices when you smell nice.”

“Oh. Thank you, Cole,” I said, and he drifted away into the night. Apparently everyone was filled with advice this evening.

So I changed out of my armor and soaked boots, then bathed and shaved. And now…well, everything seems to be finished, doesn’t it? Cole is right. I should go. I will do better.


	28. The Explosion was a Bit Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW.

  _From Inquisitor Trevelyan’s personal journal:_

Last night, I prepared myself for a potential journey into the Fade. I cleared my mind of distractions, seeking the perfect peace and clarity I knew I would need to vanquish a demon in the manner I had planned. Accordingly, I pulled the tendrils of my power close, forming a tightly woven tapestry inside my breast, a cloak of concentrated power draped over the core of myself. Is that too whimsical? I like to think of it that way.

I unbraided my hair, then got into Cullen’s bed and began to take deep, cleansing breaths as I prepared both for sleep and for battle. It was late, and I assumed he would not be appearing that evening but had instead followed through on his offer to sleep in the barracks.

I slowly began to release the energy from my body, visualizing a ball of twine slowly unraveling as I approached sleep. Just as I was drifting off, the door below slammed open and then shut. I opened my eyes. Cullen climbed up the ladder and looked around. Spotting me, he crawled across the bed and pulled me into his arms.

“Unf,” I said, as he squeezed the air out of me. So much for my meditative sleep.

“Evelyn,” he said into my hair. “Cole said you needed me.”

I pulled back and looked at him, then sniffed the air. “Have you been drinking again?”

“Not much,” he said, looking a bit sheepish. “I had an ale with Rylen and Ser Liam. And I wanted to leave you alone for a while. I was going to sleep in the barracks, but Cole sort of…drifted by and...”

He pulled me closer again. “Are you all right?”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at Cole’s interference, and I patted my lover on the back. For once, he wasn’t wearing his armor, just a regular tunic and breeches. I considered being irritated with him, but it was difficult, because besides the hint of alcohol, he smelled nice, like soap and clean skin. At least he had bathed and divested himself of any random food he might have stuffed into his clothing this time.

“Rylen needs to drink less, and you should be careful too,” I scolded. “Where’s your armor? Did you lose at cards?”

“What? No!” he sputtered. “I don’t wear my armor all the time, you know.”

I frowned. “You do when you’re around me.”

“Well, you’re the Inquisitor,” he said.

“Oh.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he protested. “I just meant that I wear it when I’m working and that’s—that’s not what I meant either. It’s just…I’ve worn armor for so long, it reminds me of my duty and my position as the Commander of the Inquisition. And when I’m around you, it helps me do my job instead of constantly thinking about how close you stand to me.”

“I see.” I was definitely not irritated with him. I felt calm and warm, and I slid my hand under his shirt and splayed my fingers across his back. A soft sigh tickled my ear.

“I didn’t come here to—that’s not important, anyway. What’s important is you. How _are_ you?” He pulled back and looked down at my face. The room was dim, with just the light from the stars and a few mage lights I’d tossed up earlier.

“I am well,” I yawned. “I was just preparing myself mentally, in case I dream tonight.”

“Oh.” He sat back and swallowed. “I can…feel that. So much has faded away for me, but when you do that, it’s…” He looked down at his hands like he didn’t know what to do with them, so I took one and placed it against the back of my neck.

He hesitated for a moment. Finally, he slid his fingers up into my hair, then pressed his lips into the curve between my shoulder and neck. He remained there, breathing through his nose, for quite some time. Despite my earlier assurances that he was welcome, I had been unsure if he would even come back to his quarters this evening. Seeing him was a relief. I put my hand on his chest, felt his heart beating.

“You smell like lavender,” he said, his mouth moving against my skin. He trailed his lips up the side of my neck and paused, his breath rasping in my ear. I shivered.

“When you gather all your magic together like this, it drives me crazy,” he purred. “I can barely describe it, but it pulls at me, from right here.” He moved a hand around my ribs and up between my breasts, resting it over my heart.

“I would say it turns me into a lovesick fool who only wants to touch you,” he sighed into my ear, “but I think we both know that is always true, all the time.” I don’t know why, but that hurt. Was it because he’d assumed that I knew something without telling me? Was that it? I wasn't sure. Things still weren’t quite right.

“No, _we_ don’t know that. _We_ don’t know anything. _We_ are confused.” He winced, and I swatted his hands away.

He took my hand and pressed it back to his chest. I could feel his pulse beating very quickly. “Oh, Evelyn, how could you not know? You are my heart, my everything, no matter what happens. There’s never been anyone but you.” He looked down at where he was grasping my hand and released it self-consciously.

“And you’re drunk,” I added.

“No,” he corrected, “ _Rylen_ is drunk. I drank very slowly while everyone else talked. I had one tankard of ale. Please touch me again.” I couldn’t—wouldn’t say no, so I put my hand under his shirt and pressed my hand back against his chest. He has a very nice chest. I spread my fingers out and he shuddered at the movement.

“Maker, I’m so sorry I hurt you,” he whispered. “It all went so wrong and I—I don’t know how to…am I disturbing you? Do you want me to go?”

“Yes, you are disturbing me,” I grumbled, inspecting the hole in the ceiling. “I was trying to sleep. And no, I don’t want you to go. I want you here, with me, where you belong. Even when things are…painful. And distressing.”

“I missed you. I thought about you all day. Maybe I don’t deserve it, but I want to touch you. Please let me.”

I reached down and placed his hand on my thigh. He slowly pushed my nightgown up and wrapped his fingers around my hip.

“If you want me to stop,” he breathed, “I will.”

I rolled my eyes. “Are you dense? No, I don’t want you to stop.”

I had intended to go to sleep, but realized as soon as he showed up that it was going to be impossible if he was going to lounge around on the bed, being sweet and apologetic. I should have sent him away, I suppose, but after the painful day I’d had, I just wanted to be close to him, even if nothing was resolved. At least he was there. We still had each other. We were still trying. Nobody was leaving.

It certainly didn’t seem like he was planning on leaving any time soon, either, because he shucked off his shirt, undid his breeches and tossed them both on the floor. I threw my nightgown on top of them.

“Come here,” I said, and tugged at his shoulders, pulling him down on top of me. He slowly lowered himself between my legs, and I could feel his breathing catch when our skin touched. He braced his weight on an elbow and leaned close to me, his mouth so near I could feel his breath on my cheek.

“Can I—“ he began.

“Andraste’s ass, stop asking!” I wrapped my hand around his neck and pressed my mouth to his. He pulled away for a moment and let out a long, shaky sigh, and then trailed his hand up my side to my breast.

“You are—“ he attempted, but I kissed him again, and he finally stopped talking and started to move against me.

We kissed and touched one another until we were both trembling, until he reached down between us and eased his cock inside of me. I let out a long sigh. I closed my eyes as he rocked his body against mine and touched me in all the places that make me moan. In retrospect, I do wonder if he has been compiling a list. I shall have to ask.

I concentrated on my breathing and the movement of our bodies, and slowly let most of the magic trickle away. I hovered at the edge of outright bliss for a very long time, until he did something surprising with his hips, and whispered into my ear.

“Oh, Evelyn,” he rasped, “Evelyn, only you.”

I opened my eyes, cried out, and started to unravel. All the remaining magic I had gathered into my body—and really there wasn’t _that_ much left—suddenly spilled out as I reached my peak. Power and emotion and pleasure pulsed along my nerves. I lost the rational part of my mind for a moment, and scratched my nails down his back, moving against him in a way calculated only to elicit pleasure for both of us.

Over me, I felt him go stiff, then he whispered, “Maker’s breath, Evelyn—”

In that moment, I felt incredible, as if all the barriers between us were gone, as if all of me fell away and left only love and joy and the ecstasy of release.

Also…

That is when every candle and torch in the room burst into flames, the pitcher of water on the nightstand boiled over, and a shower of mage lights cascaded down from the ceiling to settle on the floor like glowing snow.

He put his hand at the back of my knee, pushed my leg up and over his shoulder, and thrust into me repeatedly, shaking and growling. His peak seemed to last significantly longer than usual. I worked to regain my concentration, and experienced a few small, shuddering aftershocks of sorts, possibly because I felt very aroused at being in such a vulnerable position, my legs splayed wide beneath him.

Afterwards, he collapsed on top of me, and we both lay there for a long time, gasping.

After finally catching his breath, he rolled off me. He draped his forearm across his eyes and spoke.

“What…was that?” In the now well-lit room, I could still see his pulse making the skin of his throat twitch, and he swallowed. His voice sounded slightly slurred. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“Which part?” I asked sleepily.

He waved his other hand vaguely at the torches. “That. Why is it bright as day in here?”

“Ah…” I began, then flicked my fingers and the fires and all but a few mage lights extinguished themselves. “There wasn’t much, but…energy has to go somewhere, doesn’t it? If I hadn’t sent it outside of myself, it would have been bad. My blood might have boiled, for example, or—“

“I get the idea,” he muttered from beneath his arm. “That’s horrible. Please don’t go on.”

“Oh,” I said. “Horrible. Sorry.”

A moment before, I had felt as if all of the metaphorical weight of duty and obligation pressing down on me was gone, and for a moment, we soared together.

I no longer felt that way.

I lay there, hoping that he would talk to me, afraid to begin the conversation myself, because last time it had gone so terribly awry, and it was my fault.

And as I waited, his breathing deepened, and I realized the he had fallen asleep. Wonderful.

I looked up at the ceiling and the stars beyond. Was I angry? No, I had already admitted it to myself: I was _afraid_. Afraid of what, exactly? Talking? I am the Inquisitor. I am the sharp edge of a blade.

I am not _afraid_ of anything. Not for long, anyway.

It was time to push my fear aside and decide on a way to move forward.

Over the past several days, in between the blood magic and the mage politics, I have managed to: 1) get into an argument with my lover, 2) have sex after said argument without really solving any of our deeper problems; then 3) my lover went and got drunk with his best friend and 4) passed out on my floor. Now 5) he was back and he’d just made love to me, 6) said something stupid and then 7) immediately fell asleep.

Based on the complaints of so many women I have known, this particular experience was…perfectly normal. Maddening, but normal. Perhaps a normal problem called for a normal solution.

I got up, found a cloth, and cleaned myself up a bit. Whatever else had happened, we certainly had managed to make more of a mess than usual.

Liam said I was supposed to give Cullen some time to get drunk and do something stupid. I deemed those conditions to now be met.

I got back into bed, knelt beside him, and poked him in the side.

“Wake up,” I said. “Apologize.”

“Huh?” he sat straight up.

“You may not want to talk, and I know I am in the wrong for many of our issues, but you owe me an apology.”

He blinked at me, disoriented. “What?”

“Just because you’re angry with me doesn’t mean you get to make love to me and then just…go to sleep. That makes it worse, and it was inconsiderate. Apologize.”

He kept staring at me, so I poked him again.

“Oh, Evelyn,” he exclaimed, pulling me up against his chest. “Evelyn, I didn’t mean to pass out, I just…that was…I’m not angry with you, I swear. If I’d known you thought…why didn’t you say something?”

I sat up and raised an eyebrow at him. “You told me you didn’t want to talk, so I was _trying_ not to. But you _don’t_ get to get drunk, fuck me,” I poked him again, “tell me I’m horrible, and then pass out, so consider yourself talked at. And _yes_ , that was a _list_ of things you don’t get to do, too.”

He grabbed me and pulled me back down again. “Evelyn, my love, I didn’t say I wanted you to stop trying to talk to me or making lists or—or _any_ of those things.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“All right,” he conceded, “Maybe I said something similar, but didn’t think you’d take it quite so literally. Which,” he rubbed his face, “I now see was a rather obvious mistake. But I definitely never said you were horrible.”

“Mmm,” I agreed. “You may not have _said_ those things, but they are what I _heard_.”

“What a mess,” he groaned. “Evelyn, I fell asleep because I’m genuinely exhausted from the past several days. And…because making love to you was…very intense. I know I should have talked to you before, but you were so beautiful and sleepy and soft and you were doing that…thing,” he gestured at his chest, “and it…pulls at me.”

“Oh,” I said. “That is interesting. I’ve always gotten odd looks from Templars when I do it, but I assumed that was simply because they were disconcerted by the amount of power and control it takes. I thought you’d barely be aware of it.”

“They’re aware of something, I can tell you that.” He rubbed his face. It appeared he had shaved recently. That was nice. “When we were together, just now…I’ve never felt anything like that before. Every time you moved, it was…I don’t know.” He gestured helplessly. “I was just surprised and…my brain wasn’t working well afterwards. And I don’t think you’re horrible, but Evelyn, you told me _your blood could boil_. I would consider that to be a horrible thing to happen when I make love to you.”

“There really wasn’t much energy remaining by then, but I suppose it didn’t help that the room went from fully dark to completely lit in a second,” I acknowledged. “I should probably have said something beforehand.”

“The torches exploded, Evelyn,” he said wryly. “I think you made it snow, and I want a drink of water but the pitcher is still steaming. The whole thing did not go as anticipated. Then you said something that made me worry, but I was just so…” He cleared his throat. “Err…drained? that when I tried to think, I said something stupid and then just…fell asleep.”

“All right,” I said, satisfied with his explanation. “And?”

He rolled on top of me then, planting kisses on my hair and face and neck. “And I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” I wrapped my arms around his waist and sighed. “I didn’t listen to what you were saying to me when you told me you were unhappy. I was just so terrified that you were going to leave, just like everyone else. But…this not talking, it isn’t working. It’s what got us into trouble before. I promise will try to pay more attention to what you say, too, but I’m not going to stop.”

“Evelyn, if I didn’t want constant talking and list-making and plans, I wouldn’t be here with you now. That’s the truth.” He lay his head on my chest and sighed. “I can barely sense your magic. Do you think it will ever go away completely, that feeling?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Perhaps it will come and go. Unfortunately, there is no way to know.”

“Like the cravings,” he sighed. “I’ve known men who struggled against drink their entire lives. Twenty years without a drop and they still felt its pull from time to time.”

“I was thinking…” I began. “The war is over. I need to start acting that way, if for no reason other than my own sanity, and yours. I intend to travel less, and spend less time away from Skyhold when I am on missions. And, if you find there is less reason for you to remain here, perhaps you could…come with me? To supervise our troops when they undertake humanitarian tasks, for example. Or do training exercises in the field. Or act as my advisor in smaller military undertakings. Or whatever you want.”

“I—“

“You don’t have to answer now, of course,” I interrupted. “Just think about it and—“

“Evelyn,” he said, poking me in the side in an uncomfortably familiar fashion. “Hush. The answer is yes.”

“Oh,” I said, momentarily out of things to say. “Lovely.”

“Exactly.” He let out a low laugh, and pulled me up next to him, nestling my back against his chest, and slung an arm and a leg over me. “Are you talked out yet?” he yawned.

“Not quite,” I said. “What we did tonight…I’m sorry about the magic. I had it under control, but I didn’t think it would be quite so…spectacular.”

“That’s all right,” he rumbled in my ear. “It was quite nice for me, too, but I’m exhausted. I wouldn’t want to have to apologize to you for falling asleep immediately after every time we make love. And the explosion _was_ a bit much.”

“Well, actually,” I said, “a fair portion of what you experienced had more to do with my level of concentration rather than the magic I’d accumulated. I did some research on muscle control and breathing to aid in sleep, you see, but apparently—“

He buried his head in my hair. “Evelyn, I love you, but in the Maker’s name, go to sleep. _Please_.”

I snuggled up against him, feeling safe and warm and relaxed, and followed his request without arguing about it.


	29. Her Words Burn the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains descriptions of traumatic, violent events, so use discretion if such things might upset you.

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

It is not quite dawn when I awake. Evelyn lies with her back pressed up against me, breathing quietly as she sleeps. My arm is draped over her side and my hand rests just below her breasts.

I feel…wonderful. We talked. Things aren’t perfect, but they will get better. She still wants me to touch her.

I run my hand down her belly, and she makes a small noise and rubs her bottom against me. I bury my face in her hair.

She smells of…roses? I move my hand to her hip, then around to her back. This is not right. No scars, and even the mole on her hip isn’t there. This is definitely not the body of a woman who has been fighting and training with the staff and sword for the past decade and also has a weakness for meat pies. Most telling of all is that the skin of the woman I am lying next to is just not…soft, not at all.

This is not the woman I fell asleep next to. Not her scent, not her body. I carefully remove my hand, roll over and sit up, placing my feet on the floor. Not-Evelyn tickles her fingers up my back. I try not to shudder.

“Where are you going?” she asks sleepily.

“To work,” I reply. I begin to dress.

“Come back to bed,” she purrs, but I pull my breastplate over my head and avoid looking at her. This might just be a dream, but I want to be prepared anyway.

As I am fastening my sword around my waist, she rolls out of bed and saunters towards me, naked. I try not to look at her, but I cannot help but notice again that her body is all wrong—too slender, no substance. She approaches and begins to fiddle with the buckle of my swordbelt, and I grab her wrist.

“Don’t,“ I snap, and finally look down into her face.

She stares back up at me. The face is Evelyn’s, her cheeks flushed and her eyes big and…brown?

“I don’t know what you are,” I snarl, “but don’t touch me. I am not tempted, especially not by such a poor copy as yourself.”

I push the creature away, repulsed, and draw my blade. The monster stumbles back a few steps, then hisses and vanishes in a cloud of black smoke.

And then…nothing happens. I stand around my bedroom for a few minutes, sit on the bed, then climb the ladder down to my office. Nothing unusual there, just the piles of memos and maps and messages and such that I always mean to straighten up but never do.

I open the door to the battlements and see a long hallway, extending forever in the way rooms in the Fade often do. Evelyn’s dream, then, and not mine. This the room where I found her before, so off I go, deeper into...somewhere.

The room slowly closes around me, and I am back in Evelyn’s dormitory. The chest at the bottom of her bed has been upended and the lining ripped out. Her meagre possessions are strewn about the floor, and her grimoire lays open and face down. I pick it up and smooth out the wrinkled pages. A majority of them are blank, the rest filled with small diagrams and notes in a script that is recognizably Evelyn’s, albeit much less confident and refined.

I turn the book over in my hands, then open it and slide my fingernail around the edge of the parchment lining the inside of the front cover. It comes away on one side, and I remove a small piece of paper from beneath.

It is a letter.

_Dearest Evelyn:_

_I wait for you every day to appear in the library. The other mages gossip and socialize, but you read and study instead. I borrow all the books you request when you are done with them. You are so quiet. I strain to hear your voice when you speak to the librarians. I live for the days that you smile to yourself, when you think no one is watching. I am._

_Every day I am in the Circle, I watch, and I wait, and I try to serve the Maker. It is all for nothing. Do you remember, two months ago, when you dropped your book? It was only for that one moment, when I gave you back the book and you looked up at me, that I felt like anyone had seen me, really seen me, in years._

_I do not dare to ask anything of you, but…tell me you remember? Tell me you’ll meet with me? I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, I promise. I just want to be near you and feel like I’m a man again, like I can still want something that’s good and pure and beautiful, and not poisoned._

_Robin_

Stupid selfish boy, putting her in danger. I remember this time in my life, when I first realized there was no going back, no escape. It’s a wonder I managed to not do something incredibly foolish myself. Other than falling in love with a pretty, vivacious mage with red hair and more interest in flirting with Templars than spending time in the library. I suppose Robin had better taste than I did at that age. It was so very long ago, and we were all very young.

As I finish the letter, I hear a muffled scream. I look up, and directly in front of me is the door, the one Evelyn forbade me from opening. I crumple the cursed letter and toss it on the floor, then approach. I briefly consider opening the door, but I remember Evelyn did not want me to see what is on the other side.

“Not ever,” she’d said. So I stand there, and I do not see, but I do hear.

“Apprentice Trevelyan,” the Knight-Commander bellows, “you stand accused of the crime of corrupting the moral integrity of a Templar! We found your letter. Did you think you could tempt one of my Templars with your poison, you whore? Impossible!” he spits, then there is the sickening thud of metal hitting flesh, and a small cry.

“Every day, Trevelyan—every day—I work to save the lives—the very souls—of miserable creatures like yourselves. If it were up to me, I would let demons take every filthy one of you, one by one, and I’d cut your throats myself. Are you listening to me?”

He does something to her, there on the other side of the door, something that makes her scream.

“I said, _are you listening to me?_ ”

“Yes, Knight-Commander,” I hear her sob a few seconds later.

“You’d breed like rabbits if we’d let you—whore mages making more whore children, polluting the Maker’s beautiful world with your insatiable, disgusting desires! But there are ways to remedy you of that problem. The Tranquil have no problems keeping their legs shut, girl, and we’ve prepared a special lyrium brand just for you. Would you like to see it?”

“Please, don’t,” I can barely hear her whisper. “Please Ser, don’t make me Tranquil. Just kill me if you’re going to do it.” I rest my forehead against the door, knowing this is all in the past, and I cannot stop it.

“Stupid, stupid girl,” he growls. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. Maker, I hate it when you lot cry. So bloody emotional, all the time. But we can fix that, can’t we? And then you’ll tell me everything I want to know, without all this sniveling.” My stomach roils. This is far, far too familiar.

Silence for a moment, but I can hear him pacing beyond the door.

“Knight-Corporal! Read the letter we discovered!”

“Uh, of course, Ser,” says another voice. “‘Robin: I’ve seen you in the library. Meet me in my usual study spot in three days, five hours after curfew, and we can talk about my research. I’d like that. Yours truly, Apprentice Trevelyan.’”

“Why’d you write the letter, Trevelyan?” the Knight-Commander demands. “You have a choice: the truth, or the brand.”

“I—saw him in the library, Knight-Commander. I thought he might like books. He seemed…kind.”

“Easily corruptible, you mean,” he snaps. “Had you spoken to this Knight-Templar before?”

“Only once, Ser. I dropped a book, and he handed it to me. I said—I said thank you. And then I left the library. That’s all, I swear!”

“So you’d never met him privately before?”

“No, Ser.”

“And listen carefully, Trevelyan. Did he contact you? Send you a letter? Have someone deliver you something? A gift, perhaps?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “No, Ser.”

“Are you sure, Trevelyan? I can help you remember if necessary.”

“No, Ser. Nothing. It was just—I was lonely, and stupid. I doubt he even knew my name.” Her voice sounds hollow, and distant.

“Corruping the moral integrity of a Templar is not just a stupid thing, girl! Corporal punishment and solitary confinement at best, Tranquility or death if I feel like the sentence is warranted. Do _you_ think it’s warranted, Apprentice?”

“I…would not presume to tell you want to do, Ser,” came Evelyn’s quiet reply.

“You’re a stupid whore of a girl, Trevelyan, but that’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say all day. You have no disciplinary record and your story is the same as Ser Robin’s, and I actually trust _him_. As much as I’d like to put you out of your misery, the Maker has obviously sent me here to teach you a lesson. Fifty lashes, solitary confinement for three weeks. My Knight-Captain has informed me that you have not learned your basic healing spells, yet, Trevelyan?”

“That is true, Ser,” she whispers.

He laughs. “I suppose you’d better make your peace with the Maker, then, girl. Are you certain you don’t want me to just get it over with and make you Tranquil? I _can_ be merciful, you see.”

“No, thank you, Knight-Commander,” she replies, her voice wavering. “I will put my fate in Andraste’s hands.”

“We’ll see how that goes, then, Trevelyan, considering the Maker cursed you from the day you were born. Maybe Andraste will put a good word in for you. Get her out of here, Knight-Corporal. Lashes to be administered immediately, then escort her to the cells. If she makes it through without screaming, maybe toss some salt water on her before you lock her up. That is all.”

I hear a “Yes, Ser,” and the noise of a door slamming.

“I can walk,” she says. A shuffling noise follows, then a thud and a feminine grunt. “Perhaps not.” Oh, Evelyn.

“Save your strength, Apprentice,” one of the remaining Templars sighs. “You’re going to need it.”

And then, the sound of something being dragged out of the room. All is silent, except for the harsh rasp of my breathing. I am kneeling in front of the door, my forehead pressed into the wood. Tears are streaming down my cheeks. I wipe my face, and stare down at my hands.

I feel…filthy. How can I tell her that the things I did, the same things that man did to her, are in my past? I threatened Walter _today_. And then I came crawling back to her bed and put my bloody hands all over her and _she let me_.

“I might say that listening at a door I told you to not to look behind is technically within the letter of the law, but not the spirit,” a cool voice says behind me.

I whirl around and Evelyn is there, sitting on the bed. She holds the crumpled letter in her hand.

“Why’d you let me?” I whisper.

“Let you what? Listen?” she shrugs. “Well, I pulled the memory up because I was hoping the demon would appear, although it did not. When I found you here, I thought it might be informative for you to experience one of these interrogation sessions from the outside. I’ve got more than one up here, of course,” she tapped her forehead, “but you’ve already seen so much of this story, it almost seemed rude to not allow you to fill in all the pieces. “

She waves her hand dismissively. The casual gesture is like a kick in my guts. “Well, except for the part where they flogged me, but that was really just a lot of uninformative screaming. Still, I did say that you weren’t supposed to see it, and you didn’t try to open the door. So thank you for that small measure of courtesy.”

“That’s not what I meant. After all this,” I motion at the door, “and what you heard me say today, why’d you let me…touch you?”

She blinks at me. “I didn’t ‘let’ you do anything. I love you. I wanted to be close to you, and you asked very nicely for something I already wanted, so I said yes.” She smooths the paper out on the bed and looks down at it. “Hopefully we can repeat the experience before I leave. I haven’t seen this letter in—a long time. Yours are much nicer, even the ones from when I first joined the Inquisition, and you thought I was crazy and untrustworthy.”

I continue to kneel, and say nothing, so she looks up. “You wouldn’t have made Walter Tranquil. And now you won’t easily threaten a mage with it again, I think. It’s worse to see it from the outside. You are still the same man you were this morning, and the morning before. Maybe just a bit different. Change is gradual.” She smiles and looks down at her hand, making a fist around the green light. “Except when it’s not, I suppose.”

She strolls towards me, extends both her hands, and pulls me up. “You know that I believe we are not just our pasts. For example, Liam trained me to kill a man in heavy armor.” She stands so near me, and looks up into my face, eyes half-lidded and seductive. “And yet you don’t seem to worry about the fact that up close to a Templar, I can be very dangerous indeed.”

Even after everything, I cannot help but let out a feeble laugh. I slide my hand around her waist, pull her close and bury my head in her hair. “Oh, Evelyn, I’ve always known that about you.” She feels right, smells right.

“I encountered…someone—some _thing_ else, before I came here,” I tell her. “It was like you, but…not right. Like someone was trying to reproduce you but they’d only seen you from a distance. Didn’t know what you were like, really. The real color of your eyes, the way you smell…other things, were just wrong.”

“Interesting. Unfortunate.” She pulls away from me and frowns. “Did it hurt you?”

“No, it just vanished when I confronted it.”

“Hm. There has been a demon in my dreams, but what you describe is potentially something else. Demons can reach into your mind and truly replicate another person.”

“A…maleficar?” I draw in my breath with a hiss.

“Possibly. But now we have a better idea of what we are facing. I see you brought your sword,” she nods at my waist, and gives me a smile. “Shall we go hunting, you and I?”

“But—are you well? You seem almost…sleepy.”

“I am well. I am preparing to fight a rage demon,” she smiles. “It seemed wise to maintain a bit of serenity.”

“Well, I'm not serene. I’d like nothing better than to kill some demons with you,” I growl.

“Excellent. Let’s see where we are going next.” She reaches behind me and opens the door. I turn and look into the room and see…

“A lake?” I ask.

“Not just any lake,” she says. “Although the one you took me to in Ferelden really was much nicer.”

It is dusk, and some small campfires burn in the distance by a few tents. A large flock of birds are startled by something in the woods, and take off, a swirling black mass against the dim sky.

“Let’s go,” she says, drawing her staff and setting out towards the lights.

A few Templars are seated around the first campfire we pass, quietly conversing with one another. I recognize some of their faces—Knight-Captain Liam, and Knights Ella and Carver are there. They appear to be examining a map.

Some eight or nine mages are sitting around another campfire, but we pass them, too.

“Was Enchanter Rion with you when you left?” I ask.

“No.” Her reply drifted over her shoulder. “He was part of some of the more rebellious elements in Ostwick. I did not approve of their methods, and could tell things were going to get very bad, very fast, very _soon_ , so I approached Liam, and we left. He didn’t even argue with me. I was right, of course. Rion's been avoiding me ever since he joined the Inquisition. I think I make him uncomfortable.”

“You wouldn’t know any of the mages who accompanied me. The ones I…who didn’t die during the war accompanied me to the Conclave.” She glances at them, then turns her face away. “I’ll tell you about them, sometime. It is…important to remember.”

Evelyn guides me into a small tent at the very edge of the encampment. We enter, and I can barely stand up inside of it.

“Over there,” she whispers, and points at her bedroll. “It’s going to begin here, I feel it. _Whatever happens_ , be still until I tell you. I mean it.”

I nod, and take my place on the bedroll. Folded up next to me is a woolen robe that appears to serve as a makeshift pillow. The bed is thin and uncomfortable, the entire tent furnished with only it, a lantern, and a light blanket on which Evelyn has unpacked and arranged her remaining possessions. A grimoire, another small book, and a dagger rest next to plant cuttings and small piles of herbs.

Evelyn sits cross-legged on the blanket for a moment, then closes her eyes and somehow…falls into herself. The freckles on her face have faded, her newest scars are gone, and her robe is different—dusty and travel-stained. The sleeve of her left arm is rolled up a bit, and she has a dirty looking bandage around her forearm.

She places a small journal in her lap and begins to write. She counts the piles of herbs quietly to herself, sighs, then records the number in her book.

After a few minutes, someone scratches at the door of the tent, and she looks up, surprised.

“Yes?” she calls.

A Templar pushes aside the flap and walks in. He is an extremely handsome man, wearing his dark hair in long braids. His eyes are black and mysterious in the light of the lantern. Almost as tall as me, he stands slightly hunched over in the small tent.

“Ser Robin,” Evelyn smiles, “I’m glad you came by.” She reaches for a small pile of herbs on a piece of paper. “I put together a tisane for your headaches—“

He kneels on the blanket, and puts his hand over hers. “Enchanter Trevelyan,” he begins, then stops. She blinks, then removes her hand and puts it in her lap. They both look away from each other.

He clears his throat. “Evelyn.”

She glances back, and looks even more surprised. A slight blush spreads across her cheekbones.

“I—Knight-Captain Liam has told us to make ready to leave early tomorrow morning,” he murmurs.

She looks up and smiles. “Excellent news!” she exclaims. “I’m glad he finally listened to reason. I will have the mages prepare—“

“You’re not coming with us,” he interrupts. “Liam has tracked another contingent of mages in the area. If we are with you, they could turn hostile, just like the last group.” He gestures at her arm. “Have you even seen the healer about that?”

“And just like the last group of idiots,” she argues, ignoring his question, “we are willing to stand beside you and fight.”

He shakes his head. “No, Evelyn. There are too many of them and…this is not what I came to talk to you about.” He reaches into a pouch, pulls out a small bottle full of a red liquid, and places it on the blanket.

“Well, I think that is an unreasonable decision for _several_ reasons—wait, is this…” Evelyn picks the bottle up and examines it. “My—my _phylactery_? Where did you get this, Ser Robin?”

“Starkhaven,” he smiles. “I found it when I was there, and I kept it to...remember. But now…whatever happens, Evelyn, I want you to be free.”

Evelyn carefully places the phylactery back on the blanket and says, “Ser…I don’t understand—“

He leans over very slowly, giving her the opportunity to move away. She does not, watching him with a bewildered expression as if she cannot quite fathom what he is about. Her eyes nearly cross as his face gets closer to hers, and when he finally kisses her, she makes a surprised noise, but then her hands flutter over his shoulders, and he pulls her close.

It is the kind of urgent, desperate kiss a man gives the woman he loves when they are parting, and he does not know when, or if, he will see her again. I frown and shift uncomfortably, but stay still. It is foolish to be jealous of a dead man, and I’ve kissed Evelyn like that more times than I’d like to count. I’d really rather kiss her for reasons _other_ than the possibility of impending death or permanent separation.

Finally, she pulls back, still looking surprised. He rests his forehead against hers, and whispers, “I love you, Evelyn. I’ve always loved you. Please forgive me. For everything.”

“Oh!” she exclaims, sitting up straight. “Truly, Robin? That is…a surprise. I did not anticipate…oh!” She places her hand on the ground as if to steady herself. “Well. If you really are leaving in the morning—which I still think is an awful idea, mind you—then you should…maybe…spend the night here? Just once, no Circle or Templars…or anything, really. Just…er…us?” She blushes even harder in the lamplight. I scowl.

He closes his eyes for just a moment, his breath harsh like he is in great pain. The he opens them again, and puts his hand over hers. “I can’t, Evelyn. I made a vow of chastity, and even though the Circles are gone, I must remain true to the pledge I have given the Maker.”

“Ah,” she says, and bows her head. “Well, that’s a _stupid_ vow.” I cannot help but smile.

“I know it’s unfair, Evelyn. It was my fault they hurt you so badly in the Circle. I should have spoken up for you, but I was weak and afraid. They punished you, but nothing happened to me. Nothing at all.”

He looks at her intently. “And now I’m leaving you again. I understand if you are angry. Liam didn’t even think to tell you we were going. He doesn’t care what you think. None of the Templars do. They _laughed_ , actually. They didn’t care that you’d be hurt. They didn’t think you’d get _angry_.”

“But I’m here, now,” he hisses. “And you _are_ angry. Let it fill you—“

She pulls her hand out from under his, snatches up the dagger on the blanket, and stabs it deep into his hand, spearing him to the ground. I leap to my feet and draw my blade.

“Stay back,” she calls to me. “I have this one, but watch for others.”

Robin screams and writhes, and then bursts into flames. The Sword of Mercy etched into Templar his armor begins to glow. Evelyn winces as the heat grows, but she keeps a tight grip on the dagger. The light quickly spreads all over his body, until he appears made entirely of molten rock.

Suddenly, she plunges her left hand into his chest, sinking almost her entire forearm into his body. He screams, a terrible otherworldly sound.

“I wasn’t angry, Robin, not really,” I hear her whisper. Her words burn in the air. “I was just afraid of being alone. Please forgive me.”

She is doing…something within his body, grimacing with the effort, and slowly, the rage demon begins to make crackling noises and turn black. Light shines between fissures in his charred skin, like cooling lava, but slowly that red glow fades as well. The creature stops screaming and just…falls into a pile of ash.

Evelyn’s hand appears undamaged, clenched in a fist where Robin’s heart might have been. She opens her fingers, dropping what appears to be a large piece of volcanic glass.  It lands on the blanket and the fabric beneath immediately begins to blacken and smoke from its heat.

She leans forward and rests her head in her hands.

“Give me a moment,” she tosses in my direction, then wipes her face quickly. “Let’s get out of here.”

She stands and stretches, and leaves the tent. I follow her out, then she suddenly ducks, falling to her knees.

A sharp talon swipes over her head, missing her hair and my breastplate by just a handsbreadth. Instinct takes over, and I stab my blade through the creature a split second after she extends her palm towards its body and freezes it solid. I catch a glimpse of it before it shatters: sickly green skin, long gangly arms and legs, nearly two heads taller than myself. A maw that gapes down onto its chest, filled with rows of teeth that glisten above a scattering of hideous spider-like red eyes.

There are five more circling us, and behind them, a hideous figure. It resembles a terrible distortion of a robed human—a hood made of dripping tentacles, body made of glistening folds of rotting flesh, and jutting out from its back, something like the legs of a spider. Made to spear its victims, perhaps, or wrap around their bodies and pull them close so the creature can whisper the most obscene of blasphemies from its cloaked face.

“It’s a fear demon,” Evelyn shouts, her fist blazing with white-hot flame. “Cullen, _don’t look at it!_ Don't—”

I stand at my desk. The box of lyrium is open in front of me, and the tiny blue bottle is in my hand. I am shaking and sweating. I double over in pain, retching, but the contents of my stomach are long gone already. I have tried, Maker, I’ve tried so hard, but it hasn’t been enough.

I have always been terrified that I would reach this point, but I always knew, too, deep in my heart, that it would come. I cannot do this. If I do not take the lyrium, I will die. I am not strong enough, and I have never been strong enough. I stand there, paralyzed: too frightened to drink, too frightened not to.

I look down at the box, my guts full stabbing pain. Not my old box, but a beautiful one made of sylvanwood, the crest of the Inquisition inlaid with the bone of the dragon _She_  killed at Crestwood. The one She hadn’t told me about fighting because She knew I would fuss and fret if I found out. 

Who is _She_? _Something_ doesn't want me to remember, but it's so very important.

A small vial of blood, the same one I think I saw a Templar give Her, is there in the box. It sits where the container of lyrium once lay, resting on top of a secret collection of Her drawings and letters I kept in a hidden compartment beneath.

 _She_ gave me this box. Maker, She, a mage, gave _me_ , a former Templar, Her phylactery. Unwittingly adding it to a box that already contained all the tiny scraps of my unspoken ache for Her. I still can barely believe that it happened at all. What happened, again? It drifts away, and the fear begins to return, so I grab hold of the memory of Her and do not let go.

Green eyes, brown birds, and my fingers digging into the curve of a feminine hip, a flash of a smile above me in a dark room, stars shining over her shoulder. Or are they fireflies? The scent of elfroot and lavender and dust and that terrible horse-thing she insists on riding. Heated thoughts of what it would be like to move her hair to the side and kiss the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. And then one night, my stomach clenched with fear of rejection, I _do it._ Her skin is softer than I had imagined in even my most fevered, secret dreams, and I whisper her name: _Oh, Evelyn_.

I look at the door to my left. Just out there, on the battlements, she’d handed this box to me, and said, “I wanted you to have it so that if things get bad again and I’m not here, you will know where I am and—and that I know you can do this.”

And I’d moved closer to her, so afraid to reach out, but _I did it anyway_.

I still remember the feel of her waist under my hand, the taste of blood in my mouth as we collided into a truly terrible first kiss. The way her lips moved into a slow, secret smile as they pressed up against mine, sweeter than…than anything I can imagine before or since. Than this bottle I grip in my hand.

I am terrified to put the lyrium down, but I do it anyway.

I don’t need to touch the phylactery to know exactly where she is.

I walk around my desk, open the door to the battlements, and step through.

The fear demon screams in my face, ichor dripping from its fangs. Its spidery legs are wrapped around me in a perversion of an embrace, holding me in so close, its tentacles reaching for my mouth. A mistake to pull me so near, a man with a purpose and a sword gripped in his hand.

Somehow, I find the strength to wrench myself away. I stagger back for just a moment, then grind my heels into the ground, bracing myself for a slash that slices through flesh and bone and sends the demon’s severed head flying. It makes a noise that sounds like nothing so much as a mournful sigh, then its form drifts away in the wind like smoke.

Everything is still for half a breath, only the quiet lap of water in the background and a slight wind in my hair. I hear running footsteps, and turn just as Evelyn barrels into me, wrapping her arms around my waist. We tumble onto the grass together, and she plants a dozen breathy, lightning-quick kisses all over my face.

From the ground, I try to peer around her to see if the other demons are gone.

“Is it—“ she kisses me on the mouth, “safe?” I mumble against her lips.

She leans closer again for another peck but I dodge my head away and get a mouthful of braid.

I spit out her hair, grab her shoulders, and she stops.

“Evelyn. Please. Pay attention,” I snap. “Are they gone?”

“What?” She blinks. “Oh, yes, I killed those terror demons, but the fear one grabbed you and pulled you in, and I couldn’t get to you in time and I thought—“

“Oh, Cullen.” Her voice cracks when she says my name, and she blinks away tears. “It was whispering to you.”

“I’m fine,” I assure her.

She sits up next to me, running her hands over my arms and breastplate, checking for injuries. Finding me whole, she pulls her hands back, lets out a huge sigh, and tugs at the tangle of her braid. She might be blushing, but it is hard to tell in the dim moonlight.

“You killed them all? Evelyn, there were five or six of those things.”

She shrugs. “They got between me and you. Mages are more powerful in the Fade, you know. My magic gives all these memories their form, just as it brought you here.”

“I…didn’t know you could do that, exactly.”

“Neither did I,” she sighs. “Only mages who are Dreamers can manipulate the dreams of others, but there hasn’t been a recorded Dreamer in…ages, really. But Solas could do it, and it’s started happening to me ever since…”

She looks down at her left hand, where the Anchor glows a bright green in the night.

“Nothing to worry about,” she says breezily enough that I am now worried, but I put it out of my mind for the moment.

She stands, extends her hands to me, and I allow her to pull me to my feet.

“Stand watch with me for a few minutes,” she says. “We’ll see if anything else emerges.”

I nod and look around. My heartbeat has finally returned to normal, and I begin to appreciate the beauty of our surroundings. The moon and stars shine down, their reflections shimmering on the surface of the water. I hear frogs creaking in the distance, and the call of a waterfowl.

“Very romantic,” I grumble.

“Not so bad for a first kiss.” Her moonlit smile is sad.

“First kiss?” I raise my eyebrows.

“See how many people _you_ feel like kissing after getting called a whore and being nearly beaten to death for sending a very tame love letter,” she huffs. She scrubs her hand across her face, and I feel like the terrible bastard I am. I think of Solona, the demons torturing me with my desire for her, and the very few, rather unfulfilling physical encounters I’d had in the years before I met Evelyn.

“Sweet Andraste, I am so tired of killing Robin,” she whispers, and walks out to the edge of the dock.

I follow, feeling guilty.

I stand beside her and clear my throat.

“I…” I begin awkwardly. “I’m going to say this wrong, I know, but…when I say there’s never been anyone but you, what I mean is…after I left Ferelden, I saw some of the other Templars were able to find…comfort with each other.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other, and she turns to me, her eyes unreadable.

“Cullen, you don’t have to—“

“It just made me feel more lonely,” I blurt. “So I stopped. I thought that the Circles had killed that part of me, until you stumbled out of the Breach. And that’s what I mean when I say there’s only ever been you.”

She reaches over and takes my hand, wrapping her cool fingers around mine and squeezing. We stand like that for a long time, I think, but time moves differently in the Fade. It could have been a few seconds, or forever.

“I never wanted to come back here,” she says eventually. “But if I had to, I’m glad it was with you.”

“Was this all really what it was like, or is some of it the Fade distorting your memories? I don't know how these things work.”

“Neither do I, mostly. What you experienced in the Circle is what I remember. Here, mostly the same as well. Except for the terrible ending.” She smiles at me in the moonlight. “And he kissed me for significantly longer than that.”

I may have frowned, despite my best efforts. She pats my arm.

“Don’t be jealous, be sad. He was a good man, and I…I killed him.”

“That’s not true.” I shake my head. “Corypheus killed him. His life must have been torture, and you set him free.”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry you had to see all of it. I’ve sorted through these memories so many times, but I’ll never really understand why Robin wrote me that letter. Or why he took my phylactery and then gave it back. He said he loved me, but...it’s never made sense to me.”

“Really?” I raise my eyebrows, and she shrugs.

“Evelyn, when you take lyrium, it makes this…terrible aching hole inside you. All you want is lyrium, and the only thing that staves off the cravings is the strength of your faith in the Maker and the companionship of other Templars. The rest of the world is just…noise, and the longer you go without taking it, the noisier everything else gets. But when I’m with you, all I feel is…quiet, and whole. Not because you complete me, but because…” I trail off. I’ve lost the words.

She smiles. “Cole would say it’s because you’re _already_ you. You are complete. Not perfect, because nobody is, but you are whole. Now do you see? I keep telling you, I like who you are now.”

“Maker help me, but when you say it, I believe you.” I smile back at her. “When Cole says it I have no idea what he’s talking about, of course.”

I squeeze her hand. “Robin…he did those things because he loved you, Evelyn. I think…he was too weak in some ways, weaker than you deserved, but he did love you, and I don’t think he stopped. I can understand that. Once a man starts loving a woman like you, he doesn’t stop, not ever.”

“Pff,” she scoffs.

“Don’t believe me? I’ll prove it to you, then.” I slide my arm around her waist. “The only thing _I_ don’t understand is why he didn’t break that stupid vow and run away with you when he got the chance. I would have shattered that phylactery, picked you up, and carried you halfway to Tevinter by now, not gone traipsing around the Free Marches with the likes of Knight-Captain Liam.”

She looks out at the lake, and I look at her. I want only to take away her burdens, not add to them.

I close my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Evelyn. What I did today…to think that I forced you back to these memories…”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry as well, Cullen, but the fault for the pain lies with the Knight-Commander, not with you. I’ve often wondered if seeing terrible things twisted him into such an evil man, or was he always so?”

“It is impossible to know, I think,” I sigh. “There will always be those who seek to gain power over the weak but…that is not what the Templars truly stand for.”

“He was transferred out of Ostwick after my parents found out what had been done to me,” she adds thoughtfully. “Perhaps I will investigate that further.”

“Things feel…peaceful now.” She puts her hand over her heart. “They feel right. Thank you. Whatever that other thing was, if it returns, I will be ready for it.”

“I still worry for you,” I say, “but I always will.”

“I know, dearest. I will be safe.” She turns to me. “I must go to the Frostback Basin and finish our business there, now that I am strong again. Our allies are depending on me to return. And now…I must attempt to truly rest. You should do the same, dearest.” She reaches towards my face. “I’m glad you’re here. I sleep better when you are nearby.”

I take her hand and lay a kiss in the center of her palm.

“I’ve been telling myself that we would go back to your lake in Ferelden when this is all done.” She shakes her head. “But sometimes I feel like whatever ‘this’ is will never be done. So we simply shall go when I return, if that is all right with you. And ‘this’ can go to the Void for all I care, whether or not it's all done.”

“I’d like that,” I murmur. I pull her close and press my lips against hers, smiling into the kiss.

She runs her hand down my face, there is a flash of green and—

I awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put a lot of work into this one, so no updates for a while so I can drink some electrolytes or somethin (and write some more chapters, too)


	30. I am Very Important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW.

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

It was at least an hour before dawn, maybe more, when I woke. Evelyn was laying pressed up against my side, her head in my armpit, half her face stuffed between my chest and the mattress so I could only see her eye and cheek. Her arms were curled up and she’d crammed her fists awkwardly under her chin. She was snoring.

I rolled onto my side and pulled her up close to me, draping an arm and a leg over her. Her head pillowed naturally on my arm and shoulder, and she snorted, snuggled into to me again, and let out a contented sigh.

I trailed my hand down her back, swallowing a lump in my throat as I mapped the crisscross of scars on her back, down to the womanly curve of her hip and bottom and thigh. I ran a finger across her collarbone, barely able to trace the discolored order and chaos of her lightning scars in the dim predawn light.

Whatever that thing in the dream had been, it didn’t know me, and it didn’t know Evelyn, not really. I suppose it thought I would be distracted by some version of an idealized woman, one with a perfectly smooth, taut body. One who didn’t snore.

It must not have known that since the first time I met Evelyn, I’ve been committing everything about her to memory, and, often, to paper.

For the first few days at Haven, I might have justified it as an old Templar habit—don’t take your eyes off the mage, look for signs of trouble—but then, after she smiled at me that first time, I just watched _her_ , and remembered everything I saw. And tortured myself with the exact sway of her hips and the number of times I’d seen her smiling at Blackwall because that bastard Rylen told me women love Grey Wardens.

When I mentioned I had problems sleeping, she told me to write a journal to chronicle my nightmares and daily events. I look back at those old volumes, now, and I see just a few pages of descriptions of bad dreams. It did help, but…the rest of my writing is about her.

And after she kissed me that first time…I remember every inch of her I’ve ever touched, and how I felt when it happened.

Most of that’s here in my journal. Maybe I’m holding on to these memories because I’m still worried about losing myself to the lyrium? I don’t know, but right now, it’s just so important that I remember, so when she’s away, I can know she’s real and not just part of another fevered dream.

I still haven’t managed to touch the bottom of her foot, because she is very ticklish there. She shrieked and accidently kicked me the last time I tried.

Her breathing changed, and she half opened her eyes and gave me the sleepiest, most beautiful smile.

“Mmm,” she smiled.

I thought about that smile, and how much I love her. I thought about how the strength of her love gave me the courage to break out of the fear demon’s nightmare, how she forgives my faults and imperfections because I am trying, and how her breasts were perfectly round and warm and soft and pressed up against me, and how she deserved to know everything I was feeling and thinking, so I said…

“Good morning.”

“G’morning,” she croaked. She buried her head in my shoulder again and let out a long sigh.

I ran my hand over her hair. “Tired?” I asked.

“No,” she muttered against my shoulder. “I woke up and you were warm and handsome and I have no excuse to stay here in bed with you and not go back to the Basin.”

“I see.” I stroked her hair and thought about what to say. On one hand, as the Commander of the Inquisition, I knew better than anyone that we needed her in the field to begin the strike against the Jaws of Hakkon. On the other hand, sometimes it feels like she flings herself in the saddle and sets out on missions without a glance back, and it was rather…reassuring to know that sometimes she’d rather lay around in bed with me than leave.

“I’ve had two platoons of soldiers ready and waiting for several days now. If we notify them at daybreak, they will be ready to mobilize by midday. Say the word, and they will finish their preparations. All you need to do is to make sure you and your companions are ready.”

She rolled onto her back and nodded. “Efficient as always, Commander. I suppose we’d better send that messenger.”

“There’s just one problem, though.”

“Oh,” she narrowed her eyes. “What’s that?”

I shrugged, trying not to look smug. “Technically, it’s not daybreak. I’d say we have, oh, at least an hour.”

“Ah,” she said, sitting up and smiling at me. “Well, if that’s the case, you should probably go down and try to get some paperwork done.”

“That wasn’t what I—“

Understanding dawned. “No.”

“Why not?” she chirped, and started to crawl towards the bottom of the bed, presumably to escape and go down the ladder. It also afforded me a rather intriguing glimpse of her backside and…other areas.

“Evelyn Trevelyan, you stay away from that desk,” I snapped, and grabbed her ankle. She let out a yelp of laughter and kicked playfully at me with her other foot, which I also grabbed. I dragged her back towards me until she was flat on her stomach, then flung myself on top of her. She tried to wiggle out, squirming and bucking her hips, but I was simply larger, heavier, and far more determined to keep her there than she was to escape.

She laughed merrily the entire time, until finally she gave up and collapsed face-first into the mattress, snickering. I hadn’t heard her laugh like that in…well, ever, at least as far as I could remember. Always something new to discover.

I propped myself up on one elbow so as not to crush her completely, and asked, “Do you yield?”

“Maybe,” came the muffled answer from the mattress. “You obviously have.”

She raised her hips and rubbed her bottom against me. Although it seems obvious in retrospect, a bit of playful wrestling with this happy, willing, _naked_ woman had resulted in…unintended consequences.

She turned her head to the side and grinned at me, half her face still mashed into the mattress.

I ran my free hand down her side, and she shivered. “Is this all right?” I asked. “I’m not crushing you?”

“No,” she half-mumbled. “It’s lovely. But since you’re not doing anything, I really should get going—“

She slid her hands under her shoulders and began to shove—“And get some work done.” Her arms shaking, she managed to push herself up. Before she could lock her elbows, I brought my full weight down on her again, and she collapsed back into the mattress with a yelp.

I pressed my lips at the base of her neck. “I’ll make you a deal,” I said, my mouth moving against her skin. “I’ll do…something, if you promise to stop leaving.”

She pretended to think. “Acceptable,” she said, and then wiggled her backside against me again. “Touch me,” she ordered.

“Maker, yes,” I breathed against her neck. I crawled backwards off of her and slid my arm under her waist, pulling her up onto her hands and knees. Kneeling behind her, I ran my hand around her backside and between her legs.

She moaned and rocked back against me, and I couldn’t help but let out a satisfied growl.

“I think,” I observed, “that you yielded around the same time I did.”

She let out a gasping laugh and looked back at me. “I feel a little…exposed. Do you like this?”

“Sweet Andraste, Evelyn, it’s dark in here, but you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I groaned. “Yes, I like it…very, very much. Do you want me to stop?”

“Absolutely not.” I saw her toothy smile flash in the dim light, and Maker help me, but she spread her legs a little wider, then reached her right hand over her left shoulder and flicked her fingers at me. A handful of tiny mage lights floated up above us, and the room was definitely not dark any longer.

I looked down at her. She was…

I…

Apparently there are still some things I can’t write about.

I can write about how I buried my tongue in her wetness and licked her until she started to shake and cried my name and collapsed onto her stomach, twitching.

About how I covered her body with mine, arching my back to join with her, wrapping my hand around the base of her neck, feeling the vibration in her throat from all the tiny sighs and hums and moans she made.

About how, when I came, it was her name that fell from my lips, every syllable sacred, and even if everything that I am is lost, those three tiny pieces will remain, fragments of the only thing about me that ever really mattered.

After I finally managed to roll off of her, she lay next to me and made little contented humming noises. A pinkish light was finally beginning to creep into the room, and she eventually heaved herself up and staggered across the room towards the pitcher of water on my dresser. She took a drink from a mug and wet a clean cloth.

I was just beginning to feel bereft of her presence, and sad about her impending departure, when another cloth landed on my face with a damp slap. I pulled it off and glared at her.

She stood by the dresser, hands on her hips, naked and mussed from making love to me, and laughed.

“You,” I snarled, and lept up off of the bed. I was across the room before she even began to move.

By the time she squeaked, “Oh, no!” I had wrapped my arm around her waist. She tried to escape, but I threw her over my shoulder and started to haul her back towards the bed. Her giggles drifted up from behind me and I felt her fingers dance up the back of my leg to my bottom before I managed to toss her back on the bed and crawl on top of her.

I planted as many kisses as I could on her face and neck and chest, and she spread her arms out and kept laughing.

“You,” I grumbled, “do not get to laugh at me. I am very important.”

“I am even more important than you,” she announced, and snickered, “and _you_ are laughing at _me_!”

I suppose I was.

So I buried my face in her neck and laughed at the absurdity of hauling the most important woman in the world around like a sack of potatoes. And she wrapped her arms around my waist and we laughed together.

I thought I might redeem myself by serving the Inquisition, but I never, ever thought I’d feel joy in my life again.

We fell silent after a minute, and I lay my head on her breast. Eventually, she patted my shoulder.

“I think it’s time to get ready,” she murmured.

I squinted at the beginnings of the sunrise, and sighed. “If only I were ten years younger,” I said, and rolled off of her.

“I’m glad you’re not,” she replied, digging the damp rag out from under her shoulder and swiping it across my stomach. “Men of that age are like half-baked cakes.”

I glared at her, and snatched the cloth out of her hand. “I was very dashing,” I informed her.

“I’m sure you were,” she laughed over her shoulder, and ducked when I threw the rag at her.

We cleaned ourselves up, helped each other dress, and climbed down to my office. She planted one last kiss on my cheek before she headed out the door.

“Meet me at the stables around midday?” she asked, and I nodded, my hands already full of papers.

By the time midday arrived, two platoons of troops were waiting outside of Skyhold, and I headed down to the stables to meet Evelyn.

She was not there yet, but Master Dennet was standing with another man, his arms crossed and glowering as a stable hand brought him a horse. The other man—it appeared to be Lord Trevelyan—picked up the steed’s front foot, then put it down and shook his head at Dennet.

As I drew closer, I could see Dennet was glowering.

“Commander,” he barked at me, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I want guards set at the stables from now on.”

“What is it, Master Dennet?” I asked when I was close enough to speak without shouting.

He gestured angrily at the horse. “Thrush.”

“Doesn’t make any sense,” Lord Trevelyan shook his head. “These beauties live better than I do—good food, stalls mucked out every day. There’s no real pasture here, but that shouldn’t do it—they’re worked regularly in the paddock.”

“You try finding decent pasture on the top of a mountain,” Dennet snorted. “Look here, Commander.”

He picked up the horse’s hoof and gestured me over. I bent down and saw a bit of the inside of the hoof was looking rather black and spongy, especially around the frog. I sniffed it, and it smelled just slightly foul.

“Definitely thrush,” I said, unsure why he was showing this to me. “Can you not simply ready another horse for the Inquisitor?”

“That’s the problem, Commander,” Dennet spat. “They’ve all got thrush. The harts are limping around—maybe there’s an elf word for what they’ve got, but I know an infection when I see one. And the nug…things? Well, just look at ‘em.”

I looked over the door of the stall. The nuggalope (I shudder to even write the word, still) was laying on its side, mournfully licking a red and inflamed foot.

“The dracolisks seem to be fine,” Dennet said, coming up beside me. “Look at that sad thing. It’s ugly and I hate it, but it doesn’t deserve this.”

“I’ll have to inform the Inquisitor,” I sighed. “And we’ll set a guard immediately.”

“You better well had!” he grumbled.

“The stalls were mucked out this morning?” I asked.

“Every morning,” he sighed.

I walked around the corner to the pile of hay and manure that the stable hands had dumped for future removal. I picked up a pitchfork and poked through the mound until I discovered the remains of what appeared to be a stringy vine with long, red leaves.

I picked up the rashvine with the pitchfork. I brought it back around the stable and tossed it on the ground in front of the two men.

“Don’t touch it,” I cautioned.

“Rashvine,” Lord Trevelyan breathed. “Beasts know better than to eat it, but I’ve never seen them walk on it. If it were in the bedding…”

Dennet shook his head. “Makes no sense. Andraste’s ass, it’s a vine! It doesn’t grow on the bloody ground.”

“I think we all know what is going on here,” I snapped. I looked up and saw Evelyn approaching.

“I’ll advise the Inquisitor of the situation.”

I nodded at her to meet me beside Blackwall’s workbench, and she followed me inside the stable.

“Someone doesn’t want you leaving Skyhold, Inquisitor,” I said. “They put rashvine in the stalls, probably sometime last night, and almost all of the mounts are feeling the effects.”

“Rashvine?” Her eyebrows furrowed. “We’d better get the healers over here immediately. The mages won’t know what to do with the horses, but they’ll be familiar with rashvine poisoning. My father and Dennet can guide them.”

She frowned. “I’ll walk if I have to, or have mounts brought in from an outpost, but it is imperative that I leave as soon as possible.”

I glanced at the scroll in her hand, and she gave it to me. “I was just bringing you a report Scout Harding sent. The Jaws of Hakkon have managed to recruit more young warriors looking for glory than we estimated previously. The Blight hit the Avvar hard…“

“So they’ve got fresh troops with nothing to lose, then.” I shook my head. “Maybe not battle-hardened, but dangerous.”

She cocked her head at me. “You said ‘most’ of the mounts were affected by this sabotage. Which ones weren’t?”

“As I understand it, the dracolisks appear to be feeling no ill effects,” I told her, “but we’ll have to check with Dennet.”

“Ugh,” she pulled a face. “I can’t ride those things. They dance all around and try to bite me.”

“You just need a firm hand,” I sighed. “The beast senses your lack of confidence.”

“The beast senses that Circle mages are terrible riders,” she shot back. “Come on, let’s talk to Dennet.”

“Master Dennet,” she nodded as we approached. “The Commander has apprised me of the situation. We’ll have healers sent immediately, and guards placed at the stables so this doesn’t happen again.”

“What do mage healers know about horses?” Dennet demanded.

“They know how to reduce inflammation and treat rashvine poisoining,” she said patiently, and turned to her father.

“Lord Trevelyan,” she said cautiously, “I hate to impose, but other than Master Dennet, you know more about horses than anyone I’ve known. Could you perhaps be convinced to remain at Skyhold to aid in the treatment of my stable?”

He blinked in surprise, then straightened his shoulders and nodded. “Uh, yes…Inquisitor, I’d like that. My pleasure. Best collection of horseflesh I’ve seen…well, ever, if I’m honest. Normally thrush clears up in a week or so, but I don’t know much about rashvine, so I can’t promise anything just yet. I…don’t know how long I’d need to stay.”

“Good,” she inclined her head. “I…apologize for the interruption of the dinner we had scheduled some days ago, but as you might have heard, Inquisition business has monopolized much of my time. I plan on being in the Frostback Basin for three, maybe four weeks. It would please me if you would remain as the guest of the Inquisition, at least until I return.”

“Oh, err…yes, Your Worship. I’d like that,” he repeated. He looked pleased, if a bit bewildered.

“Excellent. Now, Master Dennet, my Commander tells me that the only steeds available are the dracolisks. Does that include my usual mount?”

I rolled my eyes. Dennet rolled his eyes. Lord Trevelyan looked curious.

“Truth be told, Inquisitor, I didn’t even check on the blasted thing,” Dennet said.

“You!” he barked at the stable hand. “Bring out…the thing!” The stable hand made a disgusted face, but went inside the stable and came out with Evelyn’s beloved bog unicorn.

Lord Trevelyan looked suitably repulsed. “What in the Maker’s name—“

“You get used to it after a while,” I shrugged. “Sort of.”

The bog unicorn wheezed with pleasure when it saw Evelyn, and the stable hand jumped at the noise and dropped its lead. The creature sauntered over to her and wheezed and rattled, and she reached up and gently stroked the remnants of its ear. It made a hideous gurgling noise.

She ran her hand down the thing’s front leg and leaned into its shoulder, pinching the tendons at the back of its peeling fetlock and picking up its hoof. The whole gesture was practiced and confident. I still have no idea why she is so comfortable with that horrible rotty thing and not a real horse.

She doesn’t seem to hate animals in general. I wonder how she feels about dogs.

She gently pressed her fingers into whatever remained of the underside of its hoof. My stomach turned when she bent over to sniff the thing’s sole, just as I’d done to the real, living, not-disgusting horse earlier. She shrugged and released the hoof, and the monster sighed and leaned against her shoulder.

“Good girl,” she cooed, and patted its papery side.

“She seems fine, Master Dennet,” she called. “Would you like to take a look?”

“Absolutely not!” he called back.

“Disgusting thing,” he muttered under his breath to me. “Can’t you do something about it?”

I shrugged again. It made her happy and, for once, it was actually being useful rather than just horrifying.

She dusted her hands off and smiled at us as she walked over.

“Good enough,” she announced. “See, Master Dennet, you complained when I collected all these beasts, but they’re coming in handy! We’ll get my party saddled up--or whatever it is you put on a dracolisk, I don’t know—and we can switch out for normal mounts at the next outpost if anyone has any complaints. Give Varric a small one? And can I speak to you for one more moment, Commander?”

“Of course,” and we went back inside to Blackwall’s workbench.

As I walked away, I heard Dennet mutter, “Maker’s breath, there isn’t a small one,” but I didn’t say anything to Evelyn.

She leaned back on the table with her arms crossed, and gave me a preoccupied smile. “Thank you for handling this,” she said. “Charter should be arriving at Skyhold any day now, so you will have more assistance in your blood magic investigation. I want you to look into this incident, but don’t lose sight of the larger picture.

She sighed. “To further complicate things, Her Holiness Divine Victoria has also sent me a letter, reminding me to utilize the services and expertise of Prince Sebastian Vael.”

“Ugh,” I said. “Isn’t wrangling nobles Josephine’s job?”

“Yes,” she replied, “and she’s very good at it, but Leliana tells me Sebastian is an unparalleled archer. I was thinking you might have him assist Ser Liam when he returns from his search outside Skyhold.”

“That’s…I’m sure Ser Liam will find it to be very helpful.” I couldn’t help but give her a small smirk.

“I’m sure he will,” she replied. “I also want you to take a look at that report from Scout Harding and see if you have any further troop recommendations. If you think I’ll need more manpower based our current strategy, then get them ready and on the road as soon as possible. At least foot soldiers don’t need horses,” she sighed, “and I doubt you’ll want to call up our cavalry from Orlais or Ferelden. I trust you to take the proper measures, of course.”

I shook my head. “The terrain’s not right for cavalry units, but we may need some for scouts. Don’t worry,” I said, placing my hand on her shoulder, “I’ll take care of all of it for you.”

“I know you will,” she beamed at me, and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around my waist. I reciprocated, not caring what Lord Trevelyan or Master Dennet might see, and she lay her head on my breastplate and sighed.

“I’ll be back soon,” she said. “I promise. And I’ll write as often as I can.”

I stroked her hair. “I know,” I replied.

“And don’t let anyone touch the rashvine,” she said. “Some people have very severe allergic reactions in addition to its regular adverse effects.”

“I know. I won’t.”

“Make sure you’re sleeping, and tell Ser Rylen to write his journal and not drink too much,” she continued.

“I will.”

“I like it when you laugh,” she said.

I put my fingers under her chin, turned her face up, and kissed her.

“Be safe,” I ordered.

“Always,” she smiled.

Half an hour later, she’d clambered on top of that monstrosity, waved goodbye, and set off through the gate with her companions. They made quite a sight—an undead horse with a sword through its head surrounded by a mass of small, quadrupedal dragons. Varric shot me a glare on his way out, and I waved cheerfully.

My cheery mood did not last long. The news from the Basin is not catastrophic, but it is not good. I’ve sent for Rylen to discuss my plans, but he hasn’t shown up yet. I suppose I will have to go looking for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to pick up again after a hellish week at work. Haven't forgotten about you.


	31. Absolution in the Arms of a Mage

_From Knight-Captain Rylen’s personal journal:_

 

This is definitely one of those days I’m supposed to write about.

First off, dreamed about the fire at Starkhaven again last night. All that smoke in the apprentice quarters. I dive out of the way of the falling beam, but when the mage comes towards me with her hand sticking out to burn me to a crisp, it’s not her. It’s the Inquisitor.

I keep finding myself here, coming back to this moment, and I don’t know how to stop it. Starting to recognize it’s coming even when I’m dreaming, though, so I guess that’s a difference. Makes it a little less bad if I know what to expect—just not sure what to do next.

So the mage in my dream—I don’t like thinking of her as the Inquisitor—she doesn’t know how to break a chokehold (so it’s not really the Inquisitor, right?), and I slowly pull her down and squeeze the life out of her. By the time she’s dead, I’m nearly out of breath too.

I collapse on my back, and the world burns around me. It’s like I’m watching from outside of myself. My body catches on fire and I just lay there, not doing anything, not screaming or moving or anything, until there’s nothing left of me and the mage but half-melted Templar armor and some greasy-looking cinders. And then I wake up.

That’s it. What in the Maker’s name am I supposed to do with that? I guess if the Inquisitor was here I’d maybe try to talk with her (maybe), but she’s been gone for three days, gallivanting around in the Frostback Basin for some reason or another. Can’t exactly tell Cullen I had a dream about choking his ladylove to death, either, can I? He might toss me off the battlements for real this time.

At least Cullen’s in a better mood because he has something to do for once. He’s striding everywhere and glaring and shouting instructions. Having a grand old time, even if it is because someone’s trying to sabotage things at Skyhold and maybe kill the Inquisitor. Don’t know what he’s going to do when things are really back to some version of normal.

How long does one man have to atone until he can rest? Maybe until people stop coming after Trevelyan, though I don’t see that happening any time soon.

We were in Cullen’s office working on the final preparations for those two additional platoons of soldiers and scouts to go to the Basin, when we got a message from Ser Liam delivered by crow.

“Meet me 1hr S of SH at dusk. 4-5? apost. Brng hlr + 2 Tmplrs. QUIET!! –L.”

Cullen folded the thin roll of parchment up and nodded at me.

“Let’s get this business taken care of for once and for all,” he told me. “Who do you recommend?”

“Briony’s back from Tevinter and is getting restless. Younger mage, healer by the name of Gabrielle, has been treating Templars for a while now, and expressed interest in taking a more active role. We always need more battle healers, and Liam recommended her. Might be interesting to see how she does in the field.” I shrugged. “Anybody else? Decent scout, an archer, maybe?”

Cullen thought for a minute, then sighed. “I _do_ owe Josephine a favor. Let me go update Fiona on the situation and then I’ll get you your archer. Get the soldiers on the road like we planned, but hold the scouts back in case we need them. I’ll meet you at the front gates in about an hour?”

I shot him a glance. “You’re coming, aye? Been too long since we busted some heads together, and I wouldn’t want you to get too flabby.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he grinned.

The Commander showed up at the gates with one of the nobles I’ve seen being useless around the great hall, except now the man looked like he meant business.

“You know how to use that thing?” I asked, nodding at the absolutely exquisite bow he had slung over his shoulder.

His eyes lit up when he heard my voice, and he gave me a friendly smile. Maker, but that man was nearly as good-looking as his bow. He ruined it immediately, of course, by replying in an accent that, to an uneducated ear, might sound a bit like my own, but _wasn’t_. He was castle, I’m kiln. I managed to not glare at Cullen.

“A Starkhaven man!” he exclaimed. “I thought you looked like a Marcher, but this is superb! You do not recognize the Starkhaven bow, then? It passes to only to those of the royal family who are worthy of it, Ser…?” He looked at me expectantly.

I stifled a sigh. “Knight-Captain Rylen, Your Highness. Never seen the bow myself, only heard of it. Welcome to Skyhold, Prince Vael.”

His grin spread wider at my name. “Rylen!”

He reached out and I reluctantly gripped his hand. “I always dealt with your Knight-Commander in Starkhaven, but I heard you’re the one who really took care of things there. It was brave of you to remain loyal when your commander left.” He shook his head ruefully. “I wish my representative could have convinced you and your men to stay in Starkhaven. I should have come myself, but I was…otherwise engaged.”

I kept my mouth shut about the last part. We both knew what he’d been up to at the time.

“Wouldn’t have made a difference, Your Highness,” I shrugged. “I’ve known Cullen for years. Serving with him and his gang of heretics was a sight better than the Starkhaven militia, begging your pardon.”

“The Inquisition was not a ‘gang,’ Rylen,” Cullen huffed. “Come on. We’re all here. Let’s go.”

“Aye, Commander,” I replied blandly, and we set off down the south road out of Skyhold. I found myself walking between the prince and the Commander.

Vael laughed and clapped me on the back. “Do call me Sebastian, Rylen.”

“All right.” I eyed his gleaming mail. “I thought this was a stealth mission, Sebastian. That armor’s so loud they’re going to hear you coming leagues away.”

The man was all smiles. “By the time they’re close enough to see me, I’ll have an arrow or three between their eyes; don’t you worry, Rylen.”

I didn’t remember telling him to call me Rylen, but one doesn’t have to give princes permission for much. Briony and Gabrielle were walking behind us, and he fell back to stroll between them. I watched as he took Gabrielle’s hand and bent low over it.

“And you are…?”

“Enchanter Gabrielle, Ser,” she said. Her voice wavered just a touch, and she nodded at him. “I’m a healer.”

“Leave her alone, Sebastian,” Cullen growled over his shoulder. “We need our healer undistracted. This is her first time in the field and I want her concentrating on the mission at hand.”

Sebastian sighed and turned to Briony. “And _you_ are…?”

“Going somewhere.” She sidestepped the prince. “As is the healer,” she added, and continued walking forward with Gabrielle.

“What should I know about fighting blood mages, Knight-Captain Briony?” Gabrielle asked her companion, clearing her throat.

“Nothing, Enchanter, and ‘Briony’ is good enough for you. You stay back, keep your barrier up, and avoid those monsters if you can. Patch us up after, same as you would usually. You know how to use that staff?”

“A bit,” she nodded, “and I’ve been practicing. And I have a dagger. I’m still learning how to use it. It’s part of our training, now.”

Briony raised her eyebrows.

“Her Worship says mages should always have two weapons, S—uh… _Briony_ , so Ser Liam gave me this dagger,” Gabrielle declared. “He said the one from the quartermaster was crap. Said we need good weapons if we’re to work with Templars. If you use your abilities near me, I’ll need everything I’ve got to be able to defend myself…defend **us** , if necessary,” she added firmly.

Briony’s eyebrows raised even higher. “You hear that, Rylen?” She laughed. “The healer’s going to keep us safe.”

Gabrielle’s shoulders squared, and her cheekbones grew flushed.

Ser Briony grimaced. “Sorry, Gabrielle. There’s always just a bit of playful give-and-take before a mission like this. Keeps your stomach from twisting into knots. Well, fewer knots.”

“Yes, Knight-Captain.” The mage gave her a quick nod, then continued forward, her jaw set even tighter than before.

“Once we reach our meeting point, Enchanter, Knight-Captain Liam will tell us about the camp, and we’ll be able to give you more details about our strategy then,” Cullen said. “Every battle is different, and we’ll all have our role.”

We walked in silence for a few minutes, until Sebastian spoke again.

“The Inquisitor seems happy, even eager, to work with Templars, Commander,” he said. “It is wise of her to not toss aside the devoted servants of the Maker. And she has even convinced the mages to do so as well? I assume you deserve the credit for this?”

“You assume too much, Vael,” Cullen snapped. “The Inquisitor was hunting apostates with Templars for almost ten years before she joined the Inquisition. She knows we all have our place in the Inquisition.”

“Knight-Captain Liam says nobody convinces the Inquisitor of anything she doesn’t want to be convinced of already,” Gabrielle interjected, her eyes narrowed. “She recruited the mages as equal members of the Inquisition, and it’s our duty to serve with _all_ the other members of our organization.”

“She’s right. We’re all equals before the Maker,” Briony added, glancing at Gabrielle, “and the Templars serve as equals. That’s all there is to it, now.”

Gabrielle’s posture relaxed a bit, and she nodded.

“An admirable ideal, Knight-Captain,” Sebastian sighed, “and yet we’re apparently hunting mages who left this very Inquisition in pursuit of selfish ends. It’s always the same story—do you truly think we can outrun our pasts so easily?”

“We’re not outrunning anything. We’re here to…we’re going to _kill_ them. That’s what maleficarum deserve. I’m here to protect the weak, Your Highness.” Gabrielle glanced at Sebastian. “Why are _you_ here?”

“I…I suppose I’m here to kill blood mages, too,” he shrugged ruefully. “Fair enough, Enchanter Gabrielle.”

Since I was walking ahead with Cullen, I was the only one who saw his lips curve just a bit.

“Your healer sounds familiar, Cullen,” I murmured.

“Mmm,” he replied, and I swear to the Maker, the man actually _smiled_. I didn’t say anything, lest I be invited to take a walk on the battlements again.

About an hour out of Skyhold, we spotted a tiny strip of fabric tied to a tree, and paused. Ser Liam slipped out of a tangle of brush, and silently motioned us off the path. He led us a few hundred yards into a small clearing. Rion and Ella nodded at us, and Liam pointed to a map of the apostate camp he’d drawn in the dirt.

The camp appeared to be roughly circular, with some tents and what looked like a small wagon. Liam pointed at Briony and Cullen in turn and drew an arrow at the direction he wanted them to approach the camp. A majority of us would be coming in from the west, hopefully causing the apostates to have to squint into the setting sun.

There was another narrow path into the camp from the east. Both paths had small circles drawn on them, and the path to the west had a stick figure, a guard.

“What’s that?” I whispered, pointing at the circle.

Liam rolled his eyes at me, added some tiny squiggles to the circle to the east, then pointed at me and drew a large X through the circle, and then an arrow down the path. I’d be dealing with a magical ward protecting the rear, then. He pointed at Sebastian and indicated the stick figure on the western path, then drew an arrow around to the eastern path. He pointed at Sebastian again, and Gabrielle, and drew two small X’s on either side of the path.

Sebastian would drop the guard to the west silently, then move to the rear. Most of us would come in and scatter them from the front, while the mage and the archer struck from the back, and I moved in to flank. For four to five apostates, it was not a fair fight, and I liked it that way.

Liam pointed at Gabrielle again, and inscribed her X even deeper into the dirt. _Hold your position_.

She nodded. He pointed at her belt, and scowled, and she jumped and rifled through her pack, pulling out a dagger. She unfastened her belt and fumbled a bit trying to attach it, so Briony stepped forward and threaded the leather through the scabbard with quick, experienced hands. She stepped back, and the two women gave each other a nod.

Cullen looked down at the map, his arms crossed. After a moment, he knelt, scuffed out his marker, and moved it a bit more to the side. Liam glanced at the change and gave him an immediate nod. Better.

Before we left, Cullen motioned me near and leaned close. “Watch the ward,” he breathed in my ear. “Remember Samson.”

I nodded. The blood magic we’d seen around Skyhold had been different, unconventional, and it would do to keep an eye out.

The apostate camp itself appeared to have been selected primarily for secrecy rather than defensibility. The path from the west led down into a forested outcropping on the side of the mountain, with a clearing in the middle where they’d set up camp. To the north was a steep rock face, and to the south was a sheer drop-off. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I’d have never seen the little bit of land clinging there.

We approached the top of the path silently, and I caught a glimpse of the guard. He was wearing robes and sitting on a rotten log. Reading a book. Some guard.

Sebastian nocked an arrow, and Liam glared at him and gestured for him to move closer, but the prince just smiled. He drew the bow, aimed, and released in one fluid, practiced notion. A second later, the guard’s head jerked, and he dropped his book and fell backwards over the log.

I nodded to Liam’s team, and they began to pick their way down to the outcropping. Sebastian, Gabrielle, and I silently made our way around to the entrance of the other path.

It was more difficult to find than I’d hoped, and we wasted precious seconds looking for our location. Finally, Sebastian pointed at a patch of gravel nearly concealed by a woody shrub. We moved down the path until they could take their respective positions overlooking the camp, and I began to carefully descend further.

I squinted in the setting sun, trying not to pay attention to the handful of figures I saw casually moving about below. I needed to watch my boots very carefully while simultaneously reaching out with my senses, looking for both physical and magical signs of some kind of ward or glyph.

Finally I spotted it, inscribed in the dust of the path, and I felt a tingle in my chest. I heard a cry of alarm from below, and an arrow and a small piece of ice whizzed from behind me as the western group attacked. I looked up and amongst the flashing of our swords and armor—there were more than four or five apostates. More like seven or eight, which made a world of difference. We could still handle them, but I was needed down there more than ever.

My heart hammering, I carefully dampened the magic on the glyph—it felt like paralysis magic, nothing out of the ordinary—and then extended the toe of my boot and scuffed at the edge of the circle. I felt a tiny stiffening in my joints as its magic dissipated and then—

An intense electrical shock rippled through my body, and I screamed through my teeth.

I must have lost consciousness for a few minutes, because the next thing I knew, Gabriele was kneeling next to me, her hands glowing. One was pressed to my chest, the other to my temple. Her teeth were pulled back in a grimace and tears streaked her face.

I heard the crunch of running footsteps coming up the path, and she looked up in alarm. Whoever was coming wasn’t an ally, so I gathered all my strength—I was weak as a kitten and there was no chance I’d be able to draw my sword—and pushed up my anti-magic field. The warm feeling in my chest stopped, and Gabrielle turned green.

She tried to stand, but the apostate—definitely one of the blood mages, not one of our team—barreled past her and pushed her to the ground. She fell and smacked the side of her face on a rock, just as I lunged at the enemy mage. I managed to catch the back of his leg and he fell between me and Gabrielle. I pulled myself on top of him as he rolled onto his back and kicked at me.

Finally, I pulled myself up enough straddle his legs, but I couldn’t hold him down or even get my hands around his neck, not without dropping the field. His hands scrabbled around the edges of my gauntlets and my breastplate, looking for a place to grab and push. I was so bloody weak that he finally managed to shove me off with a grunt, stand up, and stagger down the path.

He made it maybe nine or ten steps before he fell to his knees, then onto his side, gasping.

Gabrielle was still lying next to me, but her eyes were open and moving and she seemed to be conscious, so I pushed myself up and somehow staggered and crawled over to the mage. He lay there on his side, his hands fluttering around something sticking out from beneath his ribs: the healer’s dagger. I knelt down and yanked the blade out, getting a quick impression of terrified eyes before he screamed. I pushed him onto his back and slit his throat.

My legs were shaking and spasming, but I wobbled my way back to Gabrielle and half-sat, half-fell next to her.

“Stop it,” she ground out.

“Wha?” I managed to say.

“Give me back my magic, you Templar arse,” she snapped, and I let the field down with a relieved sigh, and eased myself onto my back. She rolled onto her side next to me and vomited.

“Sebastian?” I asked the sky.

She let out a chunky sort of cough and gingerly touched her head, and that’s when I noticed that the side of her robe and one of her hands were covered with blood. I heard an agonized scream from down the path, and then silence. Didn’t sound like anyone I knew, at least.

“Mild concussion,” she muttered to herself, and spat to clear her mouth. “Sebastian went down there,” she nodded, “with a couple of daggers. After you fell and he used up his arrows. I stayed here to take care of you and watch the path.”

I plucked weakly at her robe. “Yours?” I choked out. My teeth were starting to chatter, my arms and legs twitching madly.

“No. I st—stabbed that man. Andraste’s arse, I’m a healer. What am I doing here?” she whispered to herself.

“Th’ weak,” I sighed.

“Fuck,” she spat again, then pushed herself to her knees and crawled over to me. Her hands stank, covered in blood and puke and dirt from the path, and when she put them on my chest, it was the most wonderful thing I’d ever felt in my life. I could feel my mind and body knitting itself back together because of the power from her fingers.

“I love you,” I whispered when she removed her hands. “Marry me, Gabriella.”

She heaved herself up and grabbed her staff off the ground. “Templars always say that,” she said, looking down the path. “Stay here while I check on the others. And it’s ‘Gabrielle.’”

I closed my eyes, and when I woke again, I was lying in my bed at Skyhold. Things couldn’t have gone too terribly if I had made it back alive, but I sat up and swung my feet out of bed to see if I could piece together what had happened.

My head felt…soft, spongy inside, so I lay back down for just a moment and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Gabrielle was there in the room with me, measuring my pulse.

“Everybody make it out?” I asked immediately, and she nodded.

“The Commander said it was nice and clean. A couple of bumps and scuffs on everyone else, and my robe is ruined, but otherwise?” she shrugged. “He’s ready to give you the intelligence they found as soon as I say you’re ready.”

I started to sit up, but she put her hand on my chest and pushed me back into the bed.

“I didn’t say you were ready,” she snapped. “Your heart stopped for a moment back there. You’ve been unconscious for about a day. Tell me what you remember.” She kept her hand on my chest, pressing gently to keep me from moving. It was nice. I like bossy women.

I thought for a moment. “I got sloppy dispelling that glyph, took a nasty shock. Caught an apostate who was trying to escape. You took him down and I finished him off. I then…er…confessed my undying affection for you and passed out.” I may have mumbled the last bit.

“Excellent,” she nodded. “I want you on complete bed rest for the next three days. You can work, but you have to stay in bed.”

I opened my mouth to complain, but she talked right over me.

“No arguments, Knight-Captain. You will do lasting damage if you don’t take care of yourself.” She may have seemed young and a bit insecure before, but here at Skyhold she was still a healer, through and through.

I shot her a speculative look. “You stabbed a man. I like that in a woman.”

She looked away and pursed her lips.

“It was supposed to be horrible, Enchanter,” I said and put my hand over hers where it lay on my chest. “You did a terrible thing, but those were terrible people, and it needed doing. And you’re going to regret it for a long time, maybe forever, because you’re _not_ a terrible person. It’s just…sometimes you have to do a bad thing, so worse things don’t happen.”

“Says the Templar,” she scoffed, and tried to pull her hand away, but I held onto it.

I nodded. “That’s part of it, yes.”

“You,” I continued, “are lovely, and brave.” I picked her hand up and laid a soft kiss on her palm. She finally looked down at me and yanked her hand away.

“I could help you take your mind off of things,” I suggested helpfully, and gave her my most charming smile.

“Didn’t you hear what I said? You are sick,” she frowned.

“I’ll get better,” I grinned. “I can wait if you can.”

“This is what happens when these sorts of things are no longer against the rules,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes skyward, and sighing. “Then again, it happened when it was against the rules, too.”

“You’re saying you don’t like tattoos, then?” I joked.

She put her hands on her hips and looked down at me. “No, Knight-Captain. I’m saying you’re looking for the same type of healing a lot of the Templars _really_ want, and it’s a type of healing I don’t provide.”

I didn’t understand what she meant. “And what’s that?”

“I can’t heal a man’s conscience, and I don’t try.”

“What?” I snapped.

“Everybody knows you and the Commander threatened to make Walter Tranquil when you interrogated him,” she snapped back. “Templars always want to find absolution in the arms of a mage, but sleeping with one mage or a thousand isn’t going to wash that guilt away.”

I glared at her. “Last I checked, the Inquisitor that you so idolize still seems to be keeping time with the Commander. What’s the difference, exactly?”

She actually laughed. “He’s in love with _her_ , you silly man, not just trying to feel better by bunking with some random mage. She’s not a faceless solution to a problem, and _he’s_ not a Templar anymore. Meanwhile, _you_ flirt with anything that has a connection to the Fade. You don’t even know my name!”

I glared at her. “It’s Gabrielle. In my defense, I _had_ received a severe shock right before I got your name wrong,” I stated virtuously. As for the rest of it…it might not have been inaccurate, I suppose.

“Look,” she continued, “a woman like the Inquisitor doesn’t let something like that slide. The Commander walked around afterwards looking scared out of his wits. Everyone knows he’s never going to do _that_ again. However they deal with that together is their private business.”

“All right, all right, he did look like someone was going to take away his mabari,” I acknowledged.

“What I’m trying to tell you, Knight-Captain, is that it’s not my job—not _any_ mage’s job—to help you deal with what you did, either now, or at any point in your past. I can heal your body, but I can’t make your conscience whole again. Only you can heal that piece of yourself. You might want to think about how you’re going to do that.”

I stared up at the ceiling for a long time, thinking. When I turned my head, she was still there, watching me patiently.

“You’ve given this speech before, haven’t you?” I asked.

She nodded. “A Senior Enchanter explained it might happen to me, years ago, when I started showing aptitude for healing. She said almost dying makes people want to settle up their debts, somehow. She’s in her sixties, serving in the Inquisition, actually. She said at some point as she got older, she thought they’d just want to lay their heads on her motherly bosom and cry, but no, it’s still sex.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll…think about what you said,” I told her, and she nodded again.

“You’re an excellent healer,” I sighed, “even if you have terrible taste. And I still think you’re lovely and brave,” I added, “all of this aside.” I waved my hand vaguely to indicate the general awkwardness in the air.

“I’ll let the Commander know you’re ready to talk,” she said and reached over to pat my chest. “Stay in bed.”

“I bet you like tattoos.” I grinned at her. “I’ll have to show you some of mine someday. You might be surprised.” I winked.

She just looked at me. “That line won’t work on me. I’m your healer, Knight-Captain,” she sighed. “I’ve seen them all already. I’ll be back to check in after you meet with the Commander,” she threw over her shoulder, and headed out the door, closing it gently behind her.

I lay there for a while and sulked until Cullen finally showed up with a couple of scrolls under his arm.

“Took you long enough,” I grumbled.

“I’ve been around. You were still out.” He sat down next to the bed. “You almost died. I told you to be careful.”

“Aye,” I replied. I sat up and settled the covers around myself, which is when I noticed some odd, reddish peeling on my chest and one of my arms. I poked at it a bit.

“Hm, what’s this? It looks like…a weird tree.”

Cullen glanced at me. “They’re from the electricity. They’ll go away on their own in a few days.”

I poked at them a little bit. “That’s a shame. I like them. You seen these before?”

“Evelyn has some,” he shrugged. “They…didn’t heal well.”

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never seen hers. Where _are_ they, exactly?” I couldn’t resist.

He ignored me, and unrolled the scroll in his hands. “Since you’re feeling better, I’d like to give you the full report on the operation. Liam and some others will be meeting us here for further orders in a few minutes, and I want you up to date. There were nine apostates in total, and…ample evidence of blood magic. The camp appeared to have been established for about two months, give or take.”

“How many of them were former Inquisition mages?”

“I spoke to Fiona, and Walter has identified five mages who left with our ‘merchants’ around the same time the camp was established. Enough time has elapsed that it was difficult to identify the bodies, but…we think they’re all dead. Before we arrived. Bad deaths, too, as you might imagine. It appears the maleficarum were trying to breach Skyhold’s protections unsuccessfully for some time.”

“Appears?”

“One of the mages destroyed most of their records as soon as we raided their camp. We managed to recover a half-burnt journal. They were finally able to use Walter’s banned research to plant something in the Inquisitor’s quarters, but even that wasn’t as successful as they’d hoped.

“The attack in the cells seems to have been a last-ditch effort to see if something entirely within Skyhold’s walls would work. Even if it didn’t, they hoped it would ferment resentment between the Inquisition’s mages and Templars.”

“They weren’t wrong,” I sighed. “We certainly did our fair share, you and I, didn’t we? Enchanter Gabrielle says all the mages know we threatened Walter with Tranquility. And now it actually matters what the mages think.”

Cullen rubbed a hand across his face. “I know. Hopefully Evelyn smoothed most of it over, and Fiona’s really started to be a thorn in my side. But if they feel like someone is advocating for them, then maybe it’s for the best. Things seem to be under control, somehow.”

I gave him a sour look. “They think the Inquisitor has _you_ on a short enough leash that you’re sure to never do it again.”

“I have my orders, Knight-Captain,” he snapped, and I was sorry I’d said anything. “I serve because the cause is righteous, as do they. As do you. People can believe what they want, but _I will never be leashed again_. I have suffered and sacrificed so that it can be a choice—“

I held up my hands. “Stop, Cullen! Look, Gabrielle didn’t say that, I did, and it was a bloody poor choice of words at that. Fling me off the battlements, not all the mages. She thinks it’s _romantic_ that you want to make the Inquisitor happy. Or something, I don’t know.”

He stood and started to pace, glaring at the door. “The others should be here by now. This is ridiculous.”

After a momentary pause, he turned, his eyebrows furrowed. “Rylen, I don’t understand why you feel the need to talk about the Inquisitor the way you do.” He looked away from me, his back and shoulders stiff. “You know it has not been…easy for me. You are my brother, and not just because we are Templars. I thought you, of all people, would understand, would be…happy.”

“Maker, Cullen, I don’t know what to say.” I slouched down in the bed and felt horrible. “I _am_ happy for you.”

He turned back to me, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what to say? You could tell me what in Andraste’s name is wrong with you.”

“If I knew, don’t you think I’d stop?” I sighed. “The healer says it’s my conscience. Said I keep trying to get friendly with mages because I want…absolution.”

He rolled his eyes. “I can’t testify to other mages, but half the time, being with Evelyn makes me feel even _worse_ about things in my past. Things I thought I’d come to terms with.”

I frowned. “So she hasn’t…forgiven you?”

“For what? My past? Kirkwall? Being a Templar? She hasn’t forgiven me for anything I didn’t do to her personally,” he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He glanced at the door again. “She’s not all mages rolled into one, Rylen. I know she’s a symbol to a lot of people, but in the end, she’s just one woman.”

“She’s changed you, even if you can’t see it, brother. You walk differently. You had a purpose before, and that was enough, but now…” I shrugged. “You look happy, I guess.”

“I would like to say I was on that path already, but…” he frowned. “That’s probably not true. Look, when I tell Evelyn about my past, she doesn’t try to convince me that I shouldn’t feel guilty. She just tells me that she likes who I am now. And that makes me want to be better in the future.”

“Ah,” I said. “Well—“

“Don’t you morons have anything better to do than stand around all day listening to other people’s conversations?” Half a second later, Ser Liam kicked open the door and shoved in Briony, Gabrielle, and two other Templars.

Cullen leaped to his feet and glowered at the quartet of eavesdroppers. The effect was only slightly lessened by the red color he had turned.

Liam slammed the door behind him and leaned against it with his arms crossed.

“Spies, Commander,” he spat. “I come by to see if I can add anything to your report to Ser Rylen, and who do I find but these blood mage collaborators listening outside. You two—“ he jabbed his finger at Briony and Gabrielle, “—you thought you’d come along and stab us in the back on our mission, did you? But the tide turned and you tried to maintain your cover.”

“Knight-Captain—“ one of the petrified Templars began.

“Silence!” he thundered. “I’ll strike you dead myself if I have to, if only to keep your mouth from flapping.”

“Enchanter Gabrielle,” Cullen snapped, “what, exactly, were you doing _outside_ of the door, when you were supposed to be _inside_ of it, meeting with me?”

She glanced at Ser Liam and swallowed. “I—er, you were still talking with Knight-Captain Rylen, so I…waited outside. For the others. And I brought Ser Rylen some herbs to help him sleep.” She held up a small sack, and Liam snatched it out of her hand.

“Probably poison, and don’t change the subject,” he spat. “Knight-Captain Briony, what’s _your_ stupid excuse?”

“I…was keeping Gabrielle company while we waited for you? We’re…friends?” Briony attempted.

“A mage and a Templar?” He sneered. “A likely story! And you two?” he glared at the other Templars, two young men who somehow managed to turn white, red, and green all at the same time.

“Er…Knight-Captain?” Gabrielle ventured. “The truth is, we were all standing outside the door because the Commander was talking about the Inquisitor, and it was… _romantic_.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” Liam hollered.

Briony rolled her eyes skyward. “I liked it better when we were spies.”

“So did I, Knight-Captain,” Cullen shook his head. “But it seems Liam’s initial appraisal of you all as morons was, in fact, correct. Ser Liam, we have more important business. I remand these Templars into your custody. Deal with them as you see fit.”

“I hear Griffon Wing Keep is especially hot this time of year,” I added.

“Wait for me in your quarters, Knights,” Liam lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. “If word of any of this spreads, I’ll know who to go to, and you’ll _wish_ I thought you were collaborators.”

“Briony, Gabrielle, now that you have graced us with your presence, please remain. The rest of you, out of my sight.” Cullen turned his back to them.

They shuffled out of the room, shoulders slumped. Liam kicked the door shut behind them and leaned against it again.

Cullen rested his hands on the pommel of his sword and gave us all a crisp nod. “Now that they’re gone: Gabrielle, Rylen, that mage you stopped was carrying a very important piece of information, something that might save the Inquisitor’s life. So thank you for your hard work yesterday, all of you. Gabrielle, you did especially well for a healer’s first day in the field.”

The mage opened her mouth and then closed it, like a dying fish.

I ignored her shock and sat up. “What did you find out?”

Cullen frowned. “A report from a mage posing as an Inquisition foot soldier. This person will make some kind of direct attempt on Evelyn, either during the journey to the Frostback Basin or, more likely, in the confusion of the assault on the Tevinter fortress.”

“It’s a good plan,” Liam scowled. “I still don’t think this spy is our man on the inside, but they’re gonna be dead either way. And then I’ll find the rest of them and kill them, too.”

“So the plan is…?” I asked.

“Charter’s people broke the code on the message and the journal only an hour or two ago. We’ve warned the Inquisitor. While we might not be able to make it in time for her assault on the fortress, I have a small squad of fast-moving scouts readying themselves as we speak. And no, Rylen,” he added, “you can’t go.”

I readied myself for another you-should-go-after-her argument. “With all due—“

He held up his hand. “Before you start to berate me, yes, I am going.”

“Well, all right then. I’m glad you saw reason,” I muttered, and lay back on the bed.

“You got the horses you need?” Liam asked.

“Master Dennet assures me the healers have worked wonders on our stables. I’m going to need the rest of you to continue to investigate while I’m gone. Report everything pertinent to Josephine, Charter, and Fiona. Rylen, you’re in charge of the troops. Try to keep everything running normally.”

“Of course, Commander,” I nodded. “I’ll be up and busting heads in no time.”

“Briony, Gabrielle, you have the makings of a good team. I want you to keep an ear to the ground with the Templars and mages, respectively. Rylen will give you the names of other individuals you can trust.” He grimaced. “The list is shorter than usual. I sent some of my best people with the Inquisitor already. I hope they keep her safe until I arrive.”

Liam scratched his moustache. “Enchanter, make nice with Rion, but don’t pass on this information. I want you to keep an eye on him.”

“Wait,” I frowned, “if you didn’t trust Rion, why’d you ask him to go up against the blood mages with us?”

“Wanted to see what he’d do,” Liam grunted. “We were all at Ostwick. Don’t know if you knew. He didn’t like me because I’m a Templar bastard and he didn’t like Trevelyan because she was a collaborator. Now, he joined the Inquisition pretty early on, so maybe he’s over that, but maybe he’s not. I just wanna see, that’s all.”

Gabrielle nodded. “Yes, Ser.”

“Liam,” Cullen began, and then shrugged. “Do whatever you want. It’s worked absurdly well so far.”

“’Course it has,” Liam grumbled. “That's why I’m coming with you.”

Cullen frowned. “We’re going to be riding hard and fast, Knight-Captain.”

“I’m old, I’m not dead,” Liam snapped.

“You’re also going through lyrium withdrawal. If you overextend yourself, you could get very sick. I know this from personal experience, Liam.”

Liam shrugged. “I get sick, you leave me behind.”

“A tempting offer. Do what you want, but make sure you’re ready to go by the time the scouts are, or I’ll leave you behind before you even leave.” He turned towards the door.

“Err…you’re not going to punish us, Commander?” Briony ventured.

He glared at her. “Are we still talking about that? You think I’m concerned about barracks gossip at a time like this, Knight-Captain? Get your priorities straight.”

“Yes, Commander!” She stood up straighter and saluted.

“Good. I’m leaving. Maker smile on us all.”

Liam stepped out of Cullen’s way, and the Commander was out the door and gone.

We were all silent for a moment.

“That…did not go as I expected,” Gabrielle said.

“That’s the Inquisition,” I yawned. “Now get out of here and get to work. I died yesterday and I have to take a nap.”

“May I have my herbs back, Knight-Captain?” Gabrielle ventured.

“No,” he snapped. “He’ll sleep if he’s tired. You need him awake and functional if there’s an emergency.”

“But—“ she attempted again.

He pointed at the door. “Out.”

They got out.

“He stole my herbs,” I heard Gabrielle say. “What an awful man.”

Liam turned back to me.

“Have Rion keep an eye on Gabrielle, Rylen,” Liam told me. “I haven’t known her long enough to trust her.”

“That’s…” I began, then shook my head. “Aye, fine. Do you trust _any_ mages, Liam?”

“Don’t be absurd,” he snapped. “’Course I do.”

“Are any of these hypothetical mages _not_ the Inquisitor?” I asked.

He scratched his moustache and thought for a moment. “Nope, rest of them’re dead, I guess. Rough couple of years for all of us, really. Right, I gotta go before the Commander pitches a fit. Stay out of trouble, Rylen.”

After he left, I slept, and when I slept, I dreamed.

In my dream, I stand at the edge of the Waking Sea, ready to depart from the Free Marches.

I wear my old Templar armor. But I’m not wearing it, not really. This iron skin is a part of me, part of my body. It keeps me safe.

And I…

I…itch?

I run my fingers around the edge of each piece of metal until it loosens, then I slowly peel it off, as if I am sloughing away individual dead scales, like a lizard. When all the armor is gone, fallen to the ground, I feel naked and raw, but still I itch.

I dig my fingers into my face, slowly pulling away long strips of black ink. Thick bands on my shoulders and forearms, etched into me to mark all the years and events of my life—they come off in long black ribbons, thick and thin, and I twist and reach and tug until even the markings on my back are gone. But still I itch.

I brush at scars on my arms and face and chest and hands—who knew I had so many, all over?—and the memories of violence flake off like skin after a sunburn and blow away in the wind coming off the water.

And when I am completely naked, free of iron and ink and scar?

I walk into the Waking Sea.

The water is not cold, and it does not sting, and the waves welcome me deeper until I am completely submerged.

I open my eyes.

I am looking up at the ceiling of my quarters.

I rolled onto my side and went back to sleep. Didn’t dream for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look at this great art of Evelyn and Cullen by the phenomenal raexmell!!!! SO ROMANCE
> 
> http://raexmell.tumblr.com/image/129780504727
> 
> And an ass-kickin' pic of Ser Liam by the indomitable captainceranna!!! SO GROUCH
> 
> http://captainceranna.tumblr.com/image/128378287907


	32. Some Quiet Company

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Inquisitor Trevelyan:_

 

Evelyn:

 We destroyed a small cell of blood mages, and found intelligence that indicates an attempt will be made on your life. There is a mage posing as a member of the Inquisition’s ground forces. I have no information as to when this individual may strike, but it may be during your attack on the Tevinter fortress.

I am leaving Skyhold within the hour, accompanied by a small force of scouts who are accustomed to covering ground quickly. I estimate that I will be in the Frostback Basin in three to four days if all goes well. I hope you will consider delaying your attack until I arrive, if at all possible. Do what you feel is best, however.

Dearest, do what you must to keep yourself safe. I will be there soon.

 

Cullen

 

* * *

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

 

I finished the remainder of my preparations and headed over to the stables to wait for the scouts. And Liam.

Evidently, the Maker was testing my patience that day, because Lord Trevelyan was standing outside the stables. Everything was already taking an eternity, and I did not want to engage in yet another idiotic conversation.

“Commander,” he said as I approached.

“Lord Trevelyan,” I replied, and placed my knapsack on the ground, resting my hands on my sword and issuing a silent prayer to the Maker that my troops would hurry.

To my surprise and relief, we stood there in silence for a few minutes as he contemplated the various mounts being readied by the stable hands.

“That’s a Free Marches Ranger,” he said eventually, nodding at one of the horses. “I bred those for a long while there. Excellent temperament, but I got out because I…don’t go to Tantervale anymore. And that’s a Green Dales Feral. I’ve never seen one, actually, but I’ve heard they’re extraordinarily intelligent. Might be an interesting cross with that Ranger, now that I think of it. What do you ride? A Courser?”

“Dalish All-Bred,” Master Dennet interrupted, bringing my horse around the side of the stable. “First time we talked, I saw armor and tried to put him on of those Orlesian Coursers. He said never, and asked for this mare instead. Fine by me.”

“Best horse in the stables.” I checked the girth and put my knapsack into one of the saddlebags. “Her name’s Clover.”

“Interesting choice,” said Lord Trevelyan. “She’s not fancy, but she’ll take you anywhere. Most people wouldn’t see that. Solid, solid piece of horseflesh there.” He ran his hands over her withers, picked up her foot to examine the underside, and grunted his approval.

“All cleared up. Aren’t you a lovely girl, Clover?” he asked the horse, and gently put her hoof down and patted her neck.

He wandered a bit further down in the stables. “And look at these,” he sighed.

“Has he been bothering you?” I asked Dennet quietly.

“Bothering?” he replied. “Nah. Good horse sense. He showed me a couple of ways to treat thrush that I’d never seen before. Besides, he recognized my Forders as soon as he saw them. Knew my name, can rattle off bloodlines on almost any animal I’ve bred.”

“A hart and a dracolisk.” Trevelyan shook his head. I walked up beside him, as the man still seemed significantly more harmless—and friendly—than his wife. “And Evelyn rides these?” He seemed a little breathless at the idea.

“Er, no, Lord Trevelyan,” I replied. “They’re a little…advanced for her. She rode a bit in her travels with the Templars but hasn’t ever really mastered it.”

“Worthless bastards,” he spat on the ground, then glanced at me. “Nothing personal, Commander. The Templars did their best to serve the Maker, but they treated my daughters shamefully.”

“No offense taken, Lord Trevelyan,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I am, as you may know, no longer a Templar.”

“Oh, well, that’s good, then.” His eyes were drawn down to the next stall. “Why does she have all these exotic mounts if she doesn’t ride them?”

“Because she likes making me miserable, that’s why,” Dennet hollered from inside of the stable. “You know how hard it is to keep the dracolisk from eating everything else?”

I shrugged, and glanced over my shoulder. Still no sign of my scouts. “Some of these, like the hart,” I replied, “were diplomatic gifts. And the rest…I think she likes spending time with them more than she does riding them.”

“Inquisition comes down and grooms ‘em. Sometimes she mucks out a stall or two. Says it relaxes her,” Dennet lead another horse out, handed the reins to the stable hand, and shook his head. “Better at that than she is at riding,” he muttered, and moved off to yell at another stable hand about a loose girth.

“And look at this. What is it?” Trevelyan asked, standing in front of the oddest of all the creatures. “It must be nearly eighteen, no, nineteen hands, and I’ve never seen feet like that on…anything, really. And those horns. It’s as if the Maker created a naked, wrinkled ram and thought, ‘How can I make this worse?’” He shook his head. “Sometimes I think He must have a truly glorious sense of humor.”

“It’s…” I cleared my throat. “Evelyn says it’s a ‘nuggalope.’ She calls it…Knuckled Thunder.” We both winced.

“It seemed to have a…sweet temperament when the healers were treating it. Very patient, very quiet.”

“It’s a bit like riding two draft horses at once, if that makes any sense,” I told him. “Evelyn likes it, but it’s far too large for her. She feeds it cabbages.”

“It’s against the Maker is what it is,” Dennet called from inside the stable. “Stay away from that creature or it will get ideas. It tries to cuddle and it _bites_ you if you won’t _._ ”

I glanced over my shoulder yet again and, Praise the Maker, finally saw my unit of soldiers approaching. Behind them, lugging his knapsack and looking as charming as ever, was Liam. “You will have to excuse me, Lord Trevelyan,” I bowed slightly, “but I am setting off to the Frostback Basin.”

“Oh, going after her, are you? Well, that’s nice. Sometimes you must chase them down to apologize, I’m afraid. At least you have a good horse for it.”

“We didn’t…” What he or anyone else thought didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of Skyhold as quickly as possible. I nodded. “As you say, Lord Trevelyan.”

He scratched his face absentmindedly, then put his hand on my arm. “Before you go, Commander, I really must ask you something important about my daughter.”

I braced myself. He leaned closer and lowered his voice.

“What is that _thing_ she rides?” he hissed. “Where did she get it? What _is_ it?”

“Oh, Maker, that _thing_ ,” I groaned. “I can’t get her to get rid of it. She dug it up out of a bog and insists on riding it because she says it doesn’t move around when she tries to mount it, it never runs away, and she never has to switch out horses because it doesn’t get tired. I keep telling her that’s because _it’s dead_ , but she says she doesn’t care because it _likes_ her. It smells like…dead leaves.”

“Oh,” he said mournfully, and placed his hand on my shoulder. “My wife once had the most insipid little pony. Worst conformation I’ve ever seen: pig-eyed, undershot, widow’s peak, nug rump…I could go on. And Maker’s breath, was it _mean_. Anyway, the stupid thing stuffed itself one spring and got bloat. I wouldn’t wish that on any horse, but I have to admit I was glad when the blasted little troll was gone. Maybe…maybe that _thing_ will just rot away one day?”

I tried to twist my face into looking philosophical. It _had_ been a strange day.

He shook his head and patted my shoulder. “Son, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the Maker has a plan for us all. And sometimes that means that the woman He chose for you to love is…difficult, but just because a woman has terrible horse sense, that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”

“I, er…” After dropping _that_ particular piece of profound advice, he hunched his shoulders and looked away. “I’m sorry my wife was rude to you. Maybe when you come back, we could take some of these beauties out for a hunt. I don’t have the build for the hart, sadly, but maybe a dracolisk? Or the nug…thing?”

I blinked. This conversation had not gone as expected, at all.

“Why, yes, my Lord. I think I’d like that,” I nodded tentatively.

“Excellent!” he exclaimed, and clapped me on the back. “Call me Alphonse!” And off he wandered in the direction of the great hall, standing up much straighter. Not a bad man, really. He did like to run on and on about certain things, but I suppose I am used to that sort of behavior by now. Not that I’d ever say such a thing to Evelyn...

I looked at Master Dennet, and he shrugged. “Guess he likes you,” he grunted. “Probably knows you can tell a lot about a man from his horse. Equine bloodlines mean a damn sight more than most nobles’, that’s for certain. I’ll get the horses for the rest of your group.”

 

* * *

 

_From Commander Cullen's personal journal:_

 

We departed two days ago, and have two more days' travel if we keep up our current pace. Evelyn should be reaching the Basin sometime tomorrow. I hope if she receives word of my impending arrival that she will delay her assault for at least a day. The trip to the Basin has been uneventful thus far, but I have told my men to be ready for a potential ambush by the Avvar.

When we stopped and made camp this evening, Liam immediately went into his tent and did not emerge.

I considered leaving him alone to stew in his misery. After all, I had warned him that he might find the trip to be too grueling, and he had insisted on coming along anyway. But I remembered what it was like to suffer through withdrawal alone. I had initially been humiliated that Evelyn had seen me in such a state, that I had poured out all of my deepest secrets—well, all of them except for _I want to touch you more than anything, and I don’t deserve to_.

But afterwards…it made it easier, somehow. Not suffering through it alone. A cool, soothing hand on the back of my neck, a cup of tea, and some quiet company made a world of difference.

Not that Liam was going to make anything easy, ever, but I probably owed it Evelyn to try. I drew the line at touching him, but I made that bastard a cup of Evelyn’s headache tea, grabbed a waterskin, and scratched at the door to his tent.

No response, not even an expletive. I pushed my way through the flaps and saw him lying on his side, curled up in the fetal position and shaking. He had a bucket beside him and a pillow over his face. I remembered what it was like to be in that state, and I allowed myself to feel sorry for him before he started talking and ruined it.

I poked him in the leg with my toe, and he twitched the pillow aside and glared at me.

Whatever he was about to say didn’t manage to make it out of his mouth, because he started to heave. I shoved the bucket closer to him with my foot, and he grabbed it and retched for a while. When he was finished, I passed him the waterskin, and he rinsed his mouth and spat.

I handed him the tea, and he glared at me again, but took the mug. His hand was shaking.

“Drink it,” I said. “It makes a difference, even if you can only keep some of it down.”

I cast a critical eye at him. He was pale, sweaty, and shivering.

“Chances are you still won’t be able to travel tomorrow, but this is the best shot you have.” I shrugged. “Do what you want. I’ll leave a scout here with you, but my first priority is getting to the Inquisitor.”

“Good,” he burped.

I stood there and watched, my arms crossed, as he struggled through the mug of tea, managing to keep about half of it down. When he was finished, he lay back on his bedroll, gasping, and nodded at the mug.

“More,” he ordered. So I brought him more.

When I handed him the mug, he sat up and nodded at the other corner of the tent. “Sit,” he grunted, so I did.

He drank the tea, and I left him to his own thoughts. Eventually, he cast me a sharp look over the lip of his mug.

“You think this is gonna kill me?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I replied. “I didn’t die. Sometimes I felt like I would. Company helps, and the tea makes it easier to sleep. If you’re having problems with dreams—“

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, I know exactly who to talk to about that, Commander. I draw the line at keeping a diary like a little girl.”

I shrugged. “Your decision, Knight-Captain. You were with the Order for a good twenty years more than me, though, so I’d advise you to do whatever it takes to get through this. It is not a dignified process, as you might have noticed.”

“Thirty years of lyrium,” he mused. “You ever think it’d just be easier to let yourself forget? Feels like I’m fighting to remember things that should maybe stay forgotten.”

“Sometimes,” I replied. “But it takes away your future, too. Your ability to decide for yourself.”

“Suppose so. Just thought it might be worth sticking around while I can still be of some use. And because I knew Evelyn would talk my ear off about it if I didn't. Don’t know what I’ll do with myself when this whole thing is done, though.” He shrugged. “Guess I’ll figure it out then.”

He finished his tea and lay back on his bedroll. I stood.

“For what it’s worth,” I told him, “I don’t think there will ever be a time when Evelyn doesn’t need you.”

His moustache twitched. “They’re bound to stop trying to kill her one day.”

“That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it.” I shoved the tent flap out of the way, and turned for just a moment. “Get some sleep. I’ll check and see if you’re ready to travel in the morning.”

He grunted and waved me away, and I left. I think it might have been the most civil conversation we’ve ever had.


	33. The World Will Take the Rest

_A letter from Inquisitor Trevelyan to Commander Cullen:_

 

Cullen:

I have waited as long as I can, but I must set out this morning. If I delay any longer, the Jaws of Hakkon will have more of a chance to organize their new recruits, and evidently, the Hold’s bear woke up this morning and started lumbering towards the fortress. I have been informed that this means today is the day, and our Avvar allies are going, with or without the Inquisition.

As you might imagine, I have chosen “with,” and so I am readying my troops and will leave after a few final preparations.

You can probably also tell from this letter that I am, in fact, not assassinated yet. I appreciate you sending word ahead about potential danger, because when Sera sampled last night’s stew, announced that it was poison, and kicked the entire pot over into the fire, I actually paid attention.

You’ve probably never noticed a particular kind of mushroom that she’s been growing in the Skyhold garden, but she calls them “nob’s knobs.” Evidently she feels that they resemble that particular piece of male anatomy, and I find I do not disagree. ~~Other names emphasize its phallic nature, inclu~~

At any rate, at very low doses, these mushrooms induce hallucinations that some people find to be enjoyable. Ingestion of higher doses, however, causes death—eventually. By the time symptoms manifest, often enough damage has been done to the internal organs that even magical healing can have no effect.

Luckily, these mushrooms are relatively rare and difficult to cultivate. That Sera was able to grow two or three in the garden was a surprise, even. She informs me, however, that she was propagating a “secret stash” in a small pile of manure hidden behind Master Dennet’s stables, and drying the mature samples “for a project.” When I asked her how many she had accumulated, she shrugged and said, “Lots. Enough.”

It is unfortunate that she has been accumulating a large enough quantity of these mushrooms to poison a small camp of people, but on the other hand, it is fortunate that she is able to recognize the taste. I do not know if I hope Sera’s mushrooms were the ones the would-be poisoner used or not, to be honest.

There will be a high probability that the assassin is in the camp when you arrive, as I have decided to take only the two fresh platoons from Skyhold and a small contingent of reliable Templars. I know this number is lower than that which you suggested, but it will allow the remaining troops to defend the camp and potentially leave behind at least one person who is trying to kill me.

I will return as soon as I can. If you have the opportunity, I know you will deal with this new situation with aplomb. When this is over, I fully intend to sleep for several uninterrupted days. I hope you will consider joining me.

Yours, always,

 

Evelyn

 

* * *

From Cassandra Pentaghast’s personal journal:

 

I was initially displeased when the Inquisitor decided to leave behind the majority of our troops, and I told her so.

She decided to disregard my advice, and she told me so.

“I hear what you are saying, Cassandra, but Scout Harding thinks that the Jaws of Hakkon have been massing to strike against our main camp while we are on our way to the Fortress. The Stone-Bear and their allies have been given enough time to prepare themselves. Their force is sufficient, and I will take the small group we came with. We will hit with precision, not brute strength: if I can get in and defeat their leader, then we cut the head off, and the whole organization dies.”

“We’ll be spread too thin,” I complained. “Their mages are very powerful, Inquisitor, and we cannot risk having them punch holes in our lines.”

“We will rely on our allies,” she maintained. “The Inquisition can operate on a smaller scale. We don’t need to throw bodies at our problems all the time.”

“Just your body,” I grumbled. “And mine, too, if we’re counting.”

She gave me that huge smile that I have always found to be extremely obnoxious and charming. “I cannot think of anyone I’d rather throw myself at a problem with, Cassandra. If you are worried about mages, then we will bring a few trustworthy Templars with us, but we must also leave some behind to guard the camp.”

“A few?” I frowned. “At least fifteen, Inquisitor.”

“Well, I was going to suggest twenty, but since you insist—“

I threw up my hands. “And who will protect the camp while we are gone?”

“Scout Harding is more than capable, Cassandra.” She tapped her finger against her cheek. “She needs more responsibilities, don’t you think? An opportunity to grow. We really should be encouraging new talent.”

“Yes, but—“

“Besides, Cullen will be along sometime soon.” She frowned. “I was hoping he would be here by now, but I am sure that he’s making himself useful somewhere.”

She bent over and tightened the girth on her saddle. “Deflate,” she ordered the bog unicorn, and poked it with her finger. The disgusting creature let out an enormous sigh, filling the air with the scent of dead moss, and Evelyn yanked the strap up higher.

“Good girl.” She patted the thing and turned back to me. “Additionally, if Cullen is here, then he will be able to potentially locate our amateur chef. And it’s safe to bring the Templars, as I very seriously doubt an apostate would attempt to masquerade as one of the Order.”

“I wonder if you could—“ she thought for a moment, got that odd look in her eye, then waved her hand. “Now is not the time, I suppose.” I certainly never thought I’d hear her say _that_ about one of her crazy theories.

“Speaking of time,” I shrugged, “the troops will be ready to leave within a half hour or so. Scout Harding will notify us when we can depart.”

“Lovely,” she smiled, and leaned up against the bog unicorn’s shoulder. It wheezed with contentment and leaned back against her. “I haven’t had a free moment to really talk to you in ages, it seems. I’m sorry I cannot tempt you with a stale cookie and some suspicious wine.”

I sighed, and propped my back up against her saddle. I was careful to not touch the creature itself.

“Rebuilding the Seekers has taken up all of my time, and most of my thoughts, it seems. I…fear this may be our last adventure together for some time, Evelyn.” My dearest friend, and still her name sticks on my tongue. Why is that, I wonder? Do I fear acknowledging that she is someone other than just the Inquisitor? I do not know.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I did not think investigating the end of the last Inquisition would resolve itself in quite this way, but it seemed a suitable fashion to determine how to move forward with our own Inquisition. I think things will be different after all of this. Less straightforward.”

“Was it straightforward before?” I laughed. “I don’t seem to remember that part.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” she sighed. “At least a way was visible, even if it involved making difficult decisions. I never wanted the Inquisition to be an army, yet here we are, with an army. And now we’re embroiled even deeper in Chantry politics and secret conspiracies. I’m not a soldier, or a diplomat, _or_ a spy, Cassandra.”

“It makes my stomach turn to say this,” I smirked, “but I think Varric would say that you’re more than those things—you’re a hero. I might add, too, that you are a _leader_. We had the best soldiers, the best diplomats, and the best spies, but it was you who truly made the difference, my friend.”

She shot me a telling glance. “Of all the things you just listed, the only one I’m really that happy about being is your friend.”

"More than friends." I smiled in return. “If I had had a sister, I would have wanted her to be like you.”

“You can say that because your family is far away,” she grunted. “Left to my own devices, I would throw all my relatives into the sea and start over with the real kin I have found with the Inquistion. Less messy.”

“All other people are messy,” I sighed. “I would not have made a good Divine, perhaps. Leliana truly knows the ways of the human heart.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “I’m sure she’s pulled enough of them out to be quite familiar with their form and function, that is for certain. I doubt that will ever change, and it will also be messy.”

I laughed, and a bit of movement in the distance caught my eye. “There’s Harding now. Are you ready, Inquisitor?”

“Always, Seeker,” she replied.

The battle went well, just as the Inquisitor had predicted. I do not think, however, that even she could have predicted that we would find an enormous dragon and the last Inquisitor still alive after eight hundred years.

The last of the Avvar fell, and the deadly chill in the room subsided enough that we could move about without having to cluster near to the burning braziers that provided the only heat.

The Inquisitor approached the odd tableau on the dais with less caution than I would have liked. A strange figure holding a staff, magic pouring into an enormous dragon hovering just above? All of it frozen, just waiting to be disturbed? It did not look safe to me.

“If you go up there and start poking around, is a dragon corpse going shake loose and fall on us, Inquisitor?” Varric half-joked.

She paused and looked up at it, considering the possibility. “No,” she decided, “it’s definitely still alive.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow at the dwarf. “I must know: is that better or worse?”

“Worse,” Varric declared. “If it’s alive, she’s going to make us kill it, same as always.”

“At least moving around will help you warm up a bit,” Evelyn chirped. “And look, stairs!”

A number of large boulders began to hover above the ground, arranging themselves into a staircase leading onto the dais. The Inquisitor immediately began to walk up, and so I followed, against my better judgment.

As we approached, the crouching figure raised his head, and I was surprised to see that not only was he a mage, he was also elven. He opened his eyes, looked at us, and his mouth quirked a bit to the side.

“Inquisitor,” he smiled, inclining his head.

Evelyn bowed a bit in return. “Inquisitor,” she replied.

"Hilarious," Varric muttered.

“How fares Drakon?" Ameridan demanded, his eyes intense. "Has he brought the Chant to the whole world while I slept?”

“Not quite,” the Inquisitor sighed. “Inquisitor Ameridan, you disappeared in 1:20 Divine, around the time of the signing of the Nevarran Accord.”

“You say it as though it was…" he swallowed. "How long?”

I spoke up, if only to forestall another history lesson. “You were the last Inquisitor. There has not been another since you disappeared eight hundred years ago.”

“Drakon was my oldest friend.” Ameridan’s shoulders slumped. “He would have sent someone to find me.”

I realized that if he had remained frozen all this time, unaware of the passage of time, that his friends' deaths were still fresh. Eight hundred years and he still had not had time to mourn.

Dorian cleared his throat. “I’m afraid Drakon was just a little busy with the darkspawn pouring down from the Anderfels.”

“I see,” he sighed. “Telana escaped the battle. Did she…do the records say what became of her?”

I glanced at the Inquisitor. Perhaps it would be best to save his feelings?

Evelyn shook her head. “She returned to the island. From what we can tell, she died trying to reach you through dreams. I am sorry.”

He closed his eyes. “I asked her not to,” he rasped. “She was a good hunter and the love of my life, but she would never…”

Somehow I felt that Commander Cullen might understand his pain.

He opened his eyes again, and shook his head. “I hunted demons and maleficarum long before I was Inquisitor. I never wanted this job. Hunting demons was so much simpler than politics.”

“I understand completely.” Evelyn gave him a small, sad smile.

I looked at him, and the magic pouring out from his staff. It didn’t make any sense.

“Inquisitor Ameridan,” I hesitated. “How could the leader of the Seekers have been, ah, a mage?”

“Has history forgotten so much?” He cocked his head at me. “I was not a Seeker myself, as most Inquisitors were. I used my magical gifts in the hunting of demons and maleficarum. Do the Seekers no longer welcome the aid of mages?”

“No. That was forgotten, among many other things,” I sighed. “Perhaps, in the future…but I do not know.”

“Cassandra is a Seeker,” Evelyn continued, “and after the Seekers went rogue, she discovered the truth about them.”

I cleared my throat. It felt horrible to even say it, still. “We discovered Seekers developed the Rite of Tranquility.”

“You mean sundering one from the Fade?” Ameridan asked. “Yes, the Seekers do it briefly when granting an initiate their abilities.”

“It…has become a way to control mages deemed dangerous,” I explained. “They are left Tranquil. Permanently.”

He shook his head. “Killing a man is ugly. You learn not to look to it as your first recourse. But sundering them from the Fade is _easy._ Bloodless.”

“Indeed,” Evelyn murmured. “It is a terrible thing.”

“I told them spreading such a ‘solution’ would lead to abuse.” He scowled. “They swore that would never happen. They _promised_. I am so sorry.”

The Inquisitor put her hand on my shoulder. “Have no fear for the future. Cassandra will rebuild the Seekers into an organization to be proud of again…with the Inquisition’s help.”

“Then you both have my thanks.” He gazed beyond us for a moment. “As the Inquisition joined the Chantry, we needed a leader who inspired loyalty, not fear. Drakon asked that I lead, to show a united front. I was a good hunter. I did not want to lead an organization. But Drakon told me I was needed…as I suspect you were needed.”

Evelyn nodded. “My tale is not so dissimilar, I’m afraid.”

He closed his eyes. “In that case, I must tell you: take moments of happiness where you can find them. The world will take the rest.”

“I know,” she replied. “The world always wants more, doesn't it?”

“Yes, and that is why I am doubly sorry to unburden you with my unfinished business.” He looked up at the enormous beast looming above us all. “The dragon carries the spirit of an Avvar god. I lacked the strength to kill it. My own magic was able to bind us all, locked in time. But when the cultists drew that spirit into another vessel, it disrupted my bindings. It is breaking free.”

“I’d be honored to finish what you started.” Evelyn cast an appraising eye at the dragon. “My companions and I will see to it.”

“Thank you,” he replied, giving her another bittersweet smile. “The passage of years can be delayed, but not ignored. I will soon join Telana at Andraste’s side.”

“When I am gone, take this,” he nodded at his staff. “It contains the last memories of an old hunter who was neither as wise nor as strong as he thought. Fight well, Inquisitor. I am honored to have met you.”

And then he simply…blew away into dust.

As his staff fell, an enormous magical shockwave whipped out from the dais, flinging us to the floor below. Which, in retrospect, was a good thing, because as Varric had predicted, the dragon’s body fell straight down, narrowly missing us.

It smashed the dais and hit the floor with an enormous thump, cracking the flagstones below, then whipped its tail around to right itself. The dragon shook its enormous head, let out a deafening roar, and launched itself into the night sky.

“We need to stop the dragon!” I cried. “It still carries the spirit of Hakkon!”

“That’s all well and good,” Dorian called from the other side of the room, “but maybe we should get the Inquisitor on her feet first?”

I followed the sound of his voice over to the corner of the room, where he knelt next to the Inquisitor. She was propped up against a slab of stone with her hand to her head. Blood seeped out from beneath her fingers.

“Ugh,” I heard her say as I hurried closer. “Concussion.”

Dorian’s well-manicured eyebrows furrowed. “Let’s get a potion in her and get her outside. Hopefully a healer can see to her.”

I handed her my last healing draught, and she drank it. Dorian and I helped her to her feet, and she swayed for a minute and then vomited up half the potion on the floor.

“Disgusting,” Dorian scolded. “These boots cost more than your entire outfit.”

“Not a valid comparison. My outfit was free,” she coughed. “It’s made out of…a dragon I killed and some fabric I scavenged from…somewhere.”

“Most likely a sewer-dwelling urchin of some sort,” Dorian sniffed, “and it still reeks of the both of them. Help me, Cassandra.”

“It’s this fortress,” she slurred. “Smells like Tevinter magic and sadness.”

“And vomit, thanks to you,” he shot back. "Oh wait, that's just me."

“I…” she slumped forward, and I caught her.

“Save your energy,” I cautioned.

We slung her arms over our shoulders and half-walked, half-carried her out of the fortress.

“Cullen’s going to fuss,” she muttered as we emerged. “Eight hundred years later and men are still complaining just the same way.”

Dorian sat her down on a cot near the infirmary our troops had already set up, and went to search for a healer.

 Evelyn deepened her voice. “’She was a good hunter and the love of my life, but she never…’” She rolled her eyes, swayed for a moment again, then grimaced and spat. “Ugh, terrible.”

“That certainly was a terrible imitation of Inquisitor Ameridan,” Varric observed unhelpfully.

The healer finally arrived, lifted Evelyn’s eyelid, then laid his hands briefly on her temples. When he finished, he stood back and nodded.

“She’ll be fine,” he announced.

“Good,” Evelyn replied. her eyes finally capable of focusing. “Cassandra, I need to get a message to base camp and see how they’re faring. I want to be back there tonight if at all possible.”

The healer frowned. “You should probably rest—“

“Can I travel?” she interrupted.

“Well, yes, but it would really be ideal if—“

“I do apologize, Enchanter, but that is going to have to be good enough. Cassandra?”

I knew better than to argue. I brought her the paper. The note was written, given to a crow, and sent off in a matter of minutes.

“All right,” she said, heaving herself up on Ameridan’s staff. “Where’s my horse?”

“Probably exactly where you left it, Your Inquisitorialness,” Varric said. “But as for the rest of us…”

The trip back to base camp was uneventful, thank the Maker, although we took a more roundabout, less strenuous path and added a good two or three hours to our journey. Evelyn was at least able to stay in her saddle, but she was obviously exhausted by the time we arrived. She gave us all a cursory wave, handed the bog unicorn off to a reluctant foot soldier, and retired to her quarters.

“We’ll talk about the dragon tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder. It seems it would be best for me to get as much sleep as possible tonight, then. I hope in the morning I will be able to convince her to delay a bit in attacking the beast—we are all dead tired and should not be facing that thing in such a state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another super-fabulous picture, this one of Evelyn & Liam! CUTEST!!
> 
> http://insideofadoeg.tumblr.com/post/130587766455/spacerocketbunny-dragon-age-ocs-inquisitor


	34. That Accursed Thing

_From Professor Kenric’s personal journal:_

 

An exciting few days, indeed! The Inquisitor arrived back at camp yesterday, made preparations, and set out this morning to the Tevinter fortress. I waited all day to receive word, praying to the Maker that the site would survive the battle intact.

In the early afternoon, there was some kind of small skirmish outside the camp itself, but even more troops arrived from Skyhold, these on horseback. I heard afterwards that they were apparently able to flank the attacking Avvar and defeat the enemy—without losing a single man!

After the nearby fighting was over, Lady Harding checked in on me for just a moment, but was called away again when yet another wave of Avvar was seen approaching the camp.

It was a shame, as I have not spoken to her at length in the past several days. In the past, she seemed to enjoy telling stories of the places she has visited while serving the Inquisition. I would have doubted such tales from anyone else, but she is so open and honest. I have come to miss our conversations.

I am embarrassed to admit that I have never really met a dwarven woman before. There were a few shopkeepers in Starkhaven and Val Royeaux, of course, but no one I had truly conversed with.

When I mentioned this to Colette, she rolled her eyes at me. “We’re all just normal women, Professor. Mages, elves, dwarves—don’t turn her into something exotic. If the arc of history tells us one thing, it’s when we make divisions that problems arise. You know that.”

 “Yes, that is true,” I replied. “It’s just that she has freckles. I didn’t expect that.”

“Ah,” Colette replied. “I do see your dilemma, then.” I used to think it a shame that she is an elf, but now I think it gives her insight that sometimes I lack.

Colette truly is an unparalleled assistant. I could say I don’t understand why she had not been attached to another research project, but I would be lying. Even my colleagues who approved of my choice of Colette seemed to do so primarily with the assumption that I would not even give her proper credit on my papers! But she has worked so hard on this, and she believes in me. She deserves to finally see her name in print. Besides, I think the political backing of the Inquisition will protect us both from any repercussions.

And if not, well, perhaps I am feeling bold anyway!

In the mid-afternoon, after the second attack had been repulsed just as readily as the first, I stepped outside of my quarters. Lady Harding was standing out in the courtyard, and I walked out to greet her. A crow was standing on her shoulder, and she removed a small scroll from its leg. When she read the message, I was close enough to see her turn pale beneath her freckles.

I feared the worst, but then she said, “The Inquisitor has defeated the Jaws of Hakkon.”

“Excellent!” I exclaimed, rubbing my hands together. “When can I access the fort?”

“Not for a while, Professor,” she said, then turned away from me.

“Lieutenant!” she shouted at a nearby soldier. “Inquisitor’s sent word—there’s a dragon in the mountains, and it’s headed in this direction. Get a small cavalry unit out to that hut by the lake and bring the fisherman’s entire family back here. Don’t take no for an answer. You! Get crows to all our outlying camps and one to Stone-Bear Hold. Douse all cooking fires. Stay in shelter and out of sight of the sky until further notice. Same goes for base camp.”

Everyone froze for just a moment. A dragon?

“Let’s move, people,” she called, and everyone sprang into action again.

“I need you inside, Professor Kenric,” she said, striding by me. “Follow my orders.”

I scurried behind her, headed towards my cabin. “Err…how long do you think this will take, Lady Harding?”

“ _Scout_ Harding, Professor,” she sighed, “and it will last just as long as it takes for the Inquisitor to kill it. Now get in your house for now, and let the Inquisition’s people do their jobs. Please?”

I slunk inside. I tried to write at my desk and not focus on the noise outside, but I was mostly unsuccessful. After a while, an eerie silence fell over the camp. Under normal circumstances, I would have been relieved at the opportunity to finally get some work done, but I found that I could not concentrate. I sat on my bed with my book in my lap, thinking about how it was my obsession with Ameridan that had brought us all here. Is it better, perhaps, to leave some secrets dead and buried? Was all of this my fault?

I awoke some time later, and it was completely dark. There was a soft tapping on my door, and I decided to err on the side of caution and not light a candle, which resulted in a bruised shin and a crushed pile of scrolls.

It was Lady…rather, _Scout_ Harding at the door, bearing a basket of food, some wine, and most blessed of all, a lantern.

“Uh…” I began, “I wasn’t sure if I should light a candle.”

“We’re in the forest,” she shrugged. “Tiny lights are no problem. Big smoky fires—problem.”

I stood there for a moment.

“May I come in?” she asked, and smiled.

“What? Oh, yes, please!”

She entered and kicked the door shut behind her, placing the basket and bottle on the desk. I lit a candle from her lamp, and she pushed the basket in my direction.

“Eat,” she ordered. “You look like you’re going to swoon.”

“Err…thank you!” I exclaimed. She tossed me a roll out of the basket, then grabbed one for herself.

“It’s funny,” she mumbled around her mouthful of bread. “Two years ago I was in a field in Ferelden, wrapped up in a cloak, sleeping with a bunch of my neighbor’s sheep and my dog. Now look at me!” she gestured around with her roll. “And there’s a dragon! Isn’t it extraordinary?”

“You could say that,” I replied. “Aren’t you…worried about the Inquisitor?”

“Of course but…she’ll be fine.” Harding sighed. “Can you believe she started out as a Circle mage, and now look at _her_! She’s extraordinary, too. You know, before she left for the fortress, I gave her this necklace I found.”

“What was it?” I hoped she had not disturbed an artifact.

“She told me it was magic—I don’t really know for sure, but she seemed to know what to do with it. And there maaay have been a little blood on it because I dug it out of a gurgut but she said she _really_ liked it and just wiped the blood off and put it on.” She beamed at me. “You study the famous people in history, Professor, but little people like me, nobody remembers. But it’s all right, because she remembers me _now_ , when we’re both alive, and I think that might be better.”

I barely had a chance to think about how to reply— _you are extraordinary, too?—_ when there was a brusque knock at my door, and then someone pushed it open. A rather enormous man strode into the room. He was wearing a big furry…fur…over his shoulders and had a large shield on his back and a sword at his waist. Following behind him was a wiry older man, bristling with both a plethora of armaments and a nasty scowl. And a large grey moustache. That was bristly, too. The second man crossed his arms and…bristled by my door. My room suddenly felt very small and significantly less friendly.

“Commander!” Harding exclaimed, jumping to her feet and saluting. “You finally made it into camp! We would have been able to fight off those Avvar, but it would have been rough without your support.”

“Scout Harding,” he nodded. “I would have been here earlier in the day to support the main assault, but we were delayed by some Avvar who thought Inquisition troops an easy mark. What’s the situation? Where’s the Inquisitor?”

“The Jaws of Hakkon are defeated, thank the Maker. The Inquisitor took the fresh troops with her and left behind most of the ones who’ve been stationed here for any period of time.” Harding sighed. “I mean, it’s good because we were able to defend the camp, but…”

“But what?” snapped the unlikeable man by the door. “Spit it out, girl.”

“I wish she’d have taken more men, Knight-Captain. But she only took Templars she picked out special. She said it would be ‘safer,’ whatever that means. I guess it went well, it’s just…”

“What is it, Harding?” Cullen glanced at the older man, who raised his eyebrows.

“She said she was going to try to make it back to base camp by dusk, Ser, to resupply for tomorrow. She should have arrived by now. Here’s the last letter I received from her. Do you want me to try to send a crow to our other outposts to see if she’s staying there, Commander? I’m afraid we’re running a bit low on birds, because…well, there are these spiders that…spit poison, and the crows haven’t had the best of luck, Ser.”

She handed him the note. He skimmed the contents, then folded it carefully and slipped it into a pocket. “Not to worry, Scout Harding. The Knight-Captain and I have a foolproof way of tracking the Inquisitor. I keep it with me all the time,” he added.

The older man rolled his eyes and nodded. I suppose he was a Templar, then?

Resting his hands on the pommel of his sword, the Commander leaned back on his heels a bit. “The guards at the gate told me there’s a dragon in the air nearby. What’s the status?”

She gestured to a map of the area I keep on top of my desk. “Well, Ser, my scouts report the dragon has roosted here, by the lake. It appears to have made some sort of…nest out of ice for itself, but I ordered the troops to hang back and not endanger themselves. No fires whatsoever in camps—all are ordered to stay out of sight of the open sky.”

“Excellent work, Scout,” he nodded.

“Thank you, Ser.” She frowned. “I just wish we knew where the Inquisitor is.”

He patted her on the shoulder. “Liam and I will be able to track her. At least she made it through the battle alive. I’ll stay here tonight, then. Send word immediately if you find out she’s at one of the other camps and not just delayed. Do you have bunk space for myself and my men?”

“I’ve pulled in all of my patrols, Ser, so things are tight, but we’ll make it work.”

“Good enough,” he nodded. “I’ve been sleeping on the ground, so I’ll be happy to get anything that remotely resembles a bed.”

“Well, actually, Commander…” she cleared her throat.

“Out with it, Harding,” the Knight-Captain snapped. I decided I did not like him at all.

“The Inquisitor’s quarters aren’t spoken for, Ser,” she offered. “I mean, they’re spoken for, because they’re hers, but she’s not in them.”

The Commander scrubbed his hands over his face, suddenly looking exhausted. “Even better.”

The older man glared at me. “Who’s your friend with the stupid hat?” he snapped.

I _like_ my hat. It has gravitas. Unlike his ugly moustache.

“Oh, this is Professor Kenric of the University of Orlais, Ser Liam.” she explained.

“Kenric? You’re the bloody fool got us out here looking for dragons, then.” He raised a bushy eyebrow at me.

“Well, the dragon wasn’t the goal, Ser but…yes?” I offered weakly. “My research is mostly…”

The Templar rolled his eyes. “Spare me the explanations of your ‘research.’ I’ve heard enough of _those_ for a lifetime. Far as I can tell—”

The Commander held up a gloved hand and Knight-Captain Liam stopped talking and just glared at me. “Harding,” the Commander said, “from what _I_ can tell you got people moving fast, probably saved lives tonight. Excellent work.”

“Thank you, Ser,” she smiled. “Shall I show you where to go?”

“Please.” Commander Cullen rolled his shoulders and nodded, stifling a yawn, then followed the slight form of Harding out the door.

Ser Liam shot me one last glare, grabbed the bottle of wine off the table, and stomped after the Commander.

I wondered if Scout Harding would return to finish her small meal with me later, but she did not. Inquisition business, I suppose. The gossip about the Inquisitor and her Commander sharing quarters appears true—quite literally, in fact. On first observation, they seem like very dissimilar people: a mage and a former Templar, an academic and a man of action. I wonder how they are able to reconcile such differences.

 

* * *

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

 

Liam followed me into Evelyn’s quarters. He grabbed the only chair and placed it by the door, sitting down and propping his feet up on a nearby chest. He took a swig out of a bottle of wine he'd somehow acquired, and grimaced.

I sat on the bed and placed my knapsack next to me. We looked at each other. The room was dim, with only one candle providing a little light. I had no idea how he’d managed to push through the day, but he had—and thank the Maker, he’d been more silent than usual, too.

After a while, he shifted his weight and sighed.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered. He contemplated the bottle of wine, and took another drink and shuddered. “This tastes like shit. Once whoever-it-is shows up, we’ll kill them, and I’ll go away so you can get your beauty rest.”

“It was _your_ idea,” I whispered back. “I don’t like telling people I have Evelyn’s phylactery. This is stupid. You don’t even know if anyone was listening.”

“Of course they were,” he hissed. “ _I’d_ be listening! Any assassin with sense would try to get ahold of something like that, boy. Besides, it’s not like you actually _have_ it. That thing is in the rubble of a Circle somewhere, like as not.”

I looked away.

“Oh, for—you don’t actually have that accursed thing, do you?”

I shrugged.

Liam sighed and put the bottle on the floor. He heaved himself to his feet, slouched across the room, and glared down at me. “All right,” he whispered. “Lemme see it, then.”

I rummaged through my bag and pulled out the beautiful box she had given me. I removed the phylactery and looked at it for a moment.

I pushed a little energy into it, and…nothing.

My heart stopped beating.

Liam put his hand over mine, and the phylactery glowed. My heart started beating again.

“She’s fine, boy, she’s fine,” he sighed. “Breathe, now. Hour or two away, coming from the north, I think. Not working for me as well as it used to, so it’s hard to tell. Not working for you at all, is it?”

I shook my head, and he gently removed the phylactery from my hand and looked at it for a moment.

“No big loss there. These things are nasty. You know where she got it from?” he whispered.

I looked away. “She said…Robin gave it to her before he left,” I replied, still keeping my voice as low as possible.

“That sentimental bastard _would_ do something idiotic like that,” he complained. "And then she gave it to you." He shook his head.

And then, before I understood what he was about to do, he dropped the tiny bottle on the floor and crushed it under his heel.

“What are you doing?” I gasped, standing and shoving him back. “Maker’s breath, that’s—“

I looked down. A small smear of her blood on the floor. Shards of glass, the label crumpled and stained. More blood seeping out from under his boot.

“Quiet, you idiot!” he hissed. “Idiotic, irresponsible, sentimental, and stupid, stupid, _stupid,_ the lot of you. How could you possibly keep a thing like that? I can’t even…!”

He threw his hands in the air and stalked quietly to the other side of the room, leaving small splotches of her blood on the floor. He sat down again, and gave the bottom of his boots a disgusted look. He kicked them both off and propped his feet up again.

_I wanted you to have it so that if things get bad again and I’m not here, you will know where I am and—and that I know you can do this._

_Cullen, I care for you, and…you left the Templars, but do you trust mages? Could you think of me as anything more?_

I hated to admit it, but he was right, of course. There was no conceivable reason for me to keep the thing, especially now that I could no longer use it. But _she’d_ given it to me, and whenever I looked at it, I remembered.

_You can do this._

_I care for you._

I know both of those things now, of course, but when she gave the phylactery to me, I hadn’t believed either of them. I started believing because _she_ believed, because she showed me her trust in a way she knew I could not second-guess or disregard. Perhaps Rylen had been uncomfortably close to the truth when he laughed at me and asked me if getting a phylactery from a mage meant you were married. It was an incredible declaration.

I know it’s just a _thing_ , just an object. She’s given me other things: the beautiful box to replace the old one I shattered in a withdrawal-induced tantrum, the rune that keeps my armor warm on cold days and free from rust, even the lyrium-infused silver ring re-forged from the ones she was given at her Harrowing—suitably enchanted with protection spells and who-knows-what-else, of course.

More important were the other gifts that weren’t just _things_ : her trust, her love, her secrets—Maker’s breath, I’m the only man she’s ever had in her bed!

I knew all of this, I knew I couldn’t use the phylactery anymore, that it was dangerous. I’m glad Liam destroyed it, because I would never have been able to. It was the right thing to do, but even now, I wish I had it back. It was the first thing she ever gave me.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my elbows on my knees, looking at the little crushed bottle. I picked up the largest piece of glass and held it in my palm. Liam was right. I dropped the shard, but there was still a streak of blood on my hand.

I wiped my hand on my breeches and studiously ignored Liam—that is, until I heard a soft knock at the door. I froze. Liam pointed a finger at me and padded over to the door, leaning against the wall on the side by the hinge. I lay back on the bed with my right forearm across my eyes, holding a dagger in my left, concealed from view on the other side of my body.

The door swung open and someone slipped inside, then eased the door shut. Liam hugged the wall, and in the semi-darkness, our guest did not see him.

The figure approached the bed, and I saw the glint of a dagger.

I sat up. “Drop your weapon,” I snapped.

The figure—I could see he was a young man now, early twenties, perhaps—snarled and extended his hand towards me. There was that slight popping noise that comes before a fire spell, then…nothing. I assumed that Liam must have dampened the mage’s magic although I could no longer feel the effect. His Templar abilities were at least still functional, even if they had begun to wane a bit.

The mage whirled around, and, seeing Liam, began to back away from us, heading away from the door.

“You won’t take me, you Templar bastards,” he ranted. “Never, ever.”

He began frantically slashing at his wrist, obviously trying to draw enough blood for a spell. I acted on instinct, and drew my arm back, sending my dagger flying into his chest. It sank in with a solid _thunk_ and he fell to his knees, then onto his face.

Liam immediately sat back down on the chair. He was sweating.

“Good throwing,” he muttered, and drew his hand across his face. “Good instincts. Maker, doing this shit really takes it outta me these days.”

“You’re exhausted,” I snapped. “Get out of here, and I’ll go find someone to take care of the body before Evelyn’s back.”

“All right.” He struggled to his feet and hesitated by the door. “Look, son, about the—“

“You were right. Isn’t that what you want to hear? Get out,” I barked. “Get some rest. That’s an order, Knight-Captain.”

He grimaced. “Right, Commander,” he sighed, grabbed the bottle of wine, his soiled boots, and left.

As I write, the ever-dependable Harding has someone hauling the apostate’s body away and attempting to clean up the blood, which apparently involves throwing water on the floor and pushing it around. I made them pick up the glass by the bed first, but her blood had already soaked into the rough floorboards. I'll have someone cover it up tomorrow, but I am too drained to deal with it right now. I need rest, and to see Evelyn. To put things back into perspective.


	35. How Can You See Good?

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

 

Hawke throws a stack of blood-stained papers at my feet.

“Your Ser Alrik was working on a plan to turn all of Kirkwall’s mages Tranquil,” she spits.

I pick the papers up, rifle through them. I have seen this before, of course, when Alrik presented it to me himself. Hawke has made no effort to remove the blood or…viscera from some of the pages. Several of them are still damp with it.

“I will not ask how you came by the personal effects of a man recently murdered within our walls.” Alrik was a monster…or was he was simply willing to say what we all considered in the back of our minds? Had he always been so twisted, or had his contact with maleficarum and demons slowly turned him into something else? Or was he the only sane one, the only one who saw mages for who they really were?

She narrows her eyes at me, blue eyes the color of her cousin’s. Another Amell, the first one so desperate to escape the Circle that she joined the Grey Wardens, the other quite an openly practicing apostate mage, a thorn in my side, a rising power in Kirkwall. I could have brought Hawke in—or at least tried—but she seemed to hate blood mages and abominations even more than me. Meredith ordered us to leave Hawke alone. How was I to know what the consequences of my blindness would be?

Too distracted by eyes the same blue as her cousin’s, those eyes I saw each night in my nightmares.

I push back at Hawke to conceal any vulnerability she might perceive. “It’s true there has been some discussion of the idea, but as you can see, it has gone no further than that.”

“You expect us to believe that?” sputters one of her companions.

“Believe what you like, mage.” I know his name: Anders, running a healing clinic for the poorest-of-the-poor in Darktown. He does good work, but his anger is beginning to simmer more visibly now. Again, how was I—how was anyone—to know?

“The Harrowing has served us well enough for centuries.” I sigh. “It will be up to mages themselves whether they push us to more stringent measures.”

“It sounds like you support this.” Hawke raises an eyebrow at me.

I spread my hands, trying to seem a logical man. “The Tranquil ritual was created as a mercy, so that mages need not be killed out of hand for a threat they might pose. There is an argument to be made for applying it more widely.”

She cocks her head. “You certainly won’t hear any argument from the Tranquil, will you, Ser Cullen? Word is among the Templars that Tranquil don’t ever say no. I hear it’s one of your favorite things about them.”

I am disgusted by the implication. I rarely work inside the Gallows itself, spending my time training recruits and hunting blood mages and demons in Kirkwall at large. I trust the day-to-day duty of the Circle to my other brothers and sisters. Knight-Commander Meredith would know if the Tranquil were mistreated in that way, and would not tolerate it.

“Do you think it’s easy to contain a mage who truly wants to deal with demons?” I snap back. “We have done our best. But many mages have made it clear that they view the ritual as no better than death. They want no controls on them at all.”

“Keep the papers, then. They were making my bag stink.” She shrugs, suddenly casual and unconcerned. She nods down at them. “I’d wash my hands if I were you. They’re filthy.”

I look down at the parchment. My hands are smeared with blood.

I roll over in bed, thirsty and desperate to plunge my hands into the pitcher of water I know is on the other side of the room.

And Evelyn is there in the moonlight, completely unclothed, her back partially to me, holding the water. The moon spills over her shoulders, the light milky on the thick scars that crisscross her back. The Knight-Commander at Ostwick had only threatened to make her Tranquil, but if she’d been in Kirkwall, they—we—would have done it.

My dreams are sometimes very obvious.

She runs a wet cloth across her shoulders and chest. Water runs in glistening rivulets down the side of her breast, and my heart begins to pound and my breath to quicken. The only thing stronger than my desire for her is the certainty that I absolutely must not touch her, that I do not deserve to, that the blood on my hands will stain her skin and never, ever come off.

I am parched. I want to lick the drop of water off the tip of her breast, bury myself in her arms and forget about this poison but…I can’t.

I close my eyes and take several deep breaths, willing the vision of her to disappear, for the temptation and torture to subside. It is not real. The desire demon that haunted my dreams for so long has finally departed, but the nightmares have not stopped entirely, and right now, in this moment, I struggle to keep control of myself.

When I opened my eyes again, she was still there in the moonlight, still naked, leaning against the wooden dresser, rubbing the cloth on her underarm. She then propped her ankle awkwardly over her knee, scrubbed the bottom of one foot, then switched and scrubbed the other, nearly falling off-balance in the process.

She sniffed her armpit experimentally, sighed, and tossed the cloth back in the basin of water with a shrug. It was…not very erotic.

The sensual creature of my dreams was behaving for all the world like someone struggling to get off enough sweat and dirt to be able to crawl into bed. She crossed the room and paused for a moment, glancing down at a dark spot on the floor. I used the delay to roll so my back was facing her, hoping to compose myself. She pulled back the covers and slipped in beside me, then let out a large sigh.

She nestled herself up against me, draped an arm over my waist, and planted a sleepy kiss on my shoulder blade. It felt like a tiny blessing. Her skin was cool and still slightly damp, and she smelled like soap and lavender and a bit of sweat. It was so…nice.

“Mmm,” she said, and rubbed her face on my back.

I looked at my hands.

_It’s true there has been some discussion of the idea._

_It will be up to mages themselves whether they push us to more stringent measures._

_There is an argument to be made for applying it more widely._

_Please, don’t._

There was nothing on them. But the dream had felt so real...

I rolled over onto my back and peered down at her.

“Oh,” she murmured, stroking her hand through the hair on my chest. “I woke you up. Sorry.” She yawned, then wormed her way up over my arm and rested her head on my shoulder.

I reached across with my free hand and lightly touched the side of her face. “You’re here.”

“I decided I’d rather sleep with you than by myself.” She patted my shoulder sleepily, and I sighed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, squinting up at me in the darkness. “You’re stiff as a board. Did you have a nightmare? The Veil here is very thin.”

“Maker, Evelyn, I—“ I began, but she put her hand against my lips.

“A moment. Let me wake up,” she said, flicking a mage light into the air and sitting up. “Cullen, why is there blood on the floor?”

“Which patch?” I sighed, and she pointed at the spot where I’d killed the mage.

Thank the Maker. I wasn’t ready to tell her about the phylactery. “I set a rather obvious trap with Ser Liam on the off chance that your would-be assassin was in this camp. Turns out, he was, and he thought he’d use blood magic to defend himself. Now he’s dead. I did try to clean up.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “That was efficient of you!”

“It was Liam’s idea,” I confessed. “The old bastard insisted on coming. He got sick on the way here—overextended himself, honestly—and even half out of his mind with withdrawal, he’s still better at hunting apostates than I ever was.”

She patted me on the chest. “He did it for a lot longer than you did, dearest. The only way he survived was by beating himself and everyone else around him into a weapon.”

“I think I did more than enough,” I whispered. “The dream I had, Evelyn…any of those mages at Kirkwall, the ones we made Tranquil—any one of them could have been you. And then I threatened Walter…”

“It was just a dream.” She ran her hand across my chest.

I took a deep breath. “That’s not who I want to be. I’ve spent so much time trying to convince you I’m not a Templar anymore, and I hate that I behaved that way. I was just so angry, and so scared of losing you.”

She leaned her head back and looked at me, her mouth quirked to the side. “You wanted to convince me you weren’t a Templar anymore? That was a silly thing to do. You will always be a Templar, my cabbage, just like you will always be the best man I know. The Templar Order fell apart because it wasn’t good enough for Knights like you.”

“Do you truly believe that, even after what happened to you? How can you see good in Templars?”

“How can you see good in mages? You have seen the very worst magic can do—sweet Andraste, there’s a bloodstain on my floor from a blood mage! But here _we_ both are. We’re not locked up in that prison anymore. Instead, it’s just you and me, here, in bed together, naked. In love. Fornicating.”

“We are not—“ I snapped.

“Hush,” she yawned. “Not _actively_ fornicating. I’m sorry, Cullen, I need to sleep, but I’m so happy you are here. Thank you for dealing with that assassin. You keep me safe.”

“Here, lay down on me,” I sighed, and she put her head on my chest again. I let her words settle around my heart. “I sent you to Corypheus before, and I had to stay behind to defend Skyhold. While you were fighting, I just stood there and…watched the sky. I don’t know what I can do, or how I can help, but this time, I’m going to be with you.”

It had just been an especially vivid dream. I took a deep breath, and let the pain and worry go. They would come back, but maybe each time they would also be easier to banish.

“Good. You know, Ameridan and his lover came here together to fight the dragon,” she told me, her voice slightly muffled against my chest, “but he sent her away to keep her safe, choosing to face the creature by himself. But with all his companions dead or gone, he could not defeat the dragon alone. So he cast a spell to lock them both in stasis until help came.” She paused. “She waited and waited for him, searching the Fade in her sleep. Until she died.”

“Then what happened?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she whispered. “Help never came. Nothing for eight hundred years, until I arrived. He was still there in that temple, waiting for someone to come for him. We spoke for a few minutes, and then he just…blew away into dust. And now the dragon is free and I will kill it, for Ameridan.”

“Of course you will.” I stroked her shoulder.

“And also because it is probably an abomination,” she added. “Which is interesting because generally demons possess people, not creatures or objects, although I’ve read about these trees—“

“I’m coming with you,” I interrupted. “And we’ll send the scouts out to look at the dragon and evaluate its behavior. You’re exhausted. If it’s not moving tomorrow, then you shouldn’t either. All right?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “All right.”

“I want to send you away, to keep you safe,” she said, “but I am not stupid enough to study the history of the last Inquisitor and learn nothing from it. Of course you will come.” She yawned into my chest and waved the mage light away. “I need to sleep now.”

“All right,” I agreed, “but one last question—you said he cast a spell. The last Inquisitor was a _mage_?”

“Mmm…” she mumbled into my chest, “and an elf. He followed the elven gods and paid homage to Andraste. He was even a hunter, like me. He was a lot of things. If he hadn’t died…history might have been very different.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I scoffed. “Next thing I know you’ll tell me you believe Andraste was a mage and not the Bride of the Maker.”

“Maybe she was both, dearest. People can be more than one thing at a time.” She fell asleep, pressed close to me. As always, she snored.


	36. It Must Be Agony

_From Professor Kenric’s personal journal:_

 

The Inquisitor’s party set out to kill the dragon two days after the assault on the fortress. Scout Harding and I stood at the gates and watched them make their final preparations. She assured me that it had not moved since that first day. It seemed content to build some sort of a nest out of ice, and wait.

I confess to being extremely nervous, and while the Inquisitor and her companions seemed calm, I did observe Varric triple-checking his strange crossbow. He caught me looking at him, and winked.

“Off to make some history for you, Professor,” he grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll write it all down for you afterwards.”

“That would be greatly appreciated, Master Tethras,” I exclaimed. “First-hand accounts of events are extremely important, so that later generations can know what really happened.”

“Now, I don’t know about that,” he said, shaking his finger at me. “I’ll tell you what it was like, not what really happened. In my personal experience, my approach makes for a much better story.”

“But…we have an obligation to the truth!”

“Maybe you do, Professor, but who’s to say that my version isn’t just as true as yours? Besides, I read a bit of your book, and I can tell you there’s a reason my stuff sells better than yours.” He winked at me, then shouldered his bag and set off after the others.

“I do hope that they will be safe,” I said to Harding as they headed out the gate. “It seems very…dangerous. It’s hard to believe that all the work I did in a library in Val Royeaux would eventually result in someone going off to kill a dragon.”

She patted my arm. “The Inquisitor will be fine. She has to do it, so she will, and she’ll do it right. She’s just that kind of person.”

It was small consolation, but I must admit that I felt better, as I often do when I discuss my problems with Lady Harding.

“When you are done with the Inquisition,” I blurted, “what will you do? Will you…go home?”

She blinked. “Go home? To herd sheep after all I’ve seen of the world?” She smiled. “That seems like a poor fit, Professor.”

“Val Royeaux is the center of…of everything, really. There are many opportunities there,” I offered. This was going terribly, whatever “this” was supposed to be. “It’s very beautiful,” I told her, looking into her eyes.

“I know,” she said, looking away. “I’ve been several times.”

“Oh,” I said. We stood there for a moment, as the camp bustled around us. I considered...nothing important, really. I watched a soldier approach, leading a small pony.

She sighed, then smiled brightly at me. “Well! Where I end up doesn’t matter anyway, because my place is with the Inquisition, as long as I am needed.” The soldier paused beside us, and Harding inspected the saddle for a moment, then nodded, took the reins, and hoisted herself up on the pony.

“Are you going somewhere?” I asked stupidly.

“I’m a scout,” she grinned. “Got to go keep an eye on things! It’s my job.”

“Oh, well, uh, be safe?” I stuttered, and she nodded, smiled, and rode away.

She is so active! I am accustomed to the sedate, dignified pace of scholars and noblewomen, not soldiers and scouts. She was gone before I even realized I had not said farewell, and I returned to my cabin feeling out-of-sorts.

_Addendum:_

The Inquisition forces arrived back at camp in the late afternoon, all in one piece, including the Inquisitor and Harding. I verified that they were all well, then returned to my cabin to continue my work.

I might have liked to have joined in the celebrations that ensued, but I must admit that I am a bit overwhelmed by the amount of material now at my fingertips, and I am anxious to catalog and record it all. So few sources before, and so much speculation, but now—such a wealth of evidence!

Also…the Inquisitor and much of her senior staff will be leaving soon, and…there are times it is best to immerse oneself in one’s work.

I was taking notes on the shrine we located in the Tevinter ruin when there was a knock at my door, and the Inquisitor entered. She was...not whom I had hoped to see.

Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were bright red, looking for all the world as if she’d been out on a snowy day for a touch too long rather than defeated a legendary ice dragon and an Avvar god all in one. As I greeted her and expressed my relief at her victory, I noticed that she was holding a different sort of staff than the one she’d had when she left for the fortress. She also had bandages on the fingers of both of her hands.

“I have something to show you, Professor Kenric,” she smiled. “I thought you might want to see it.”

She placed the staff on the table and I leaned over it.

“Is this…?” I breathed. “So it’s really true? Ameridan was…a mage.” I now have detailed sketches and observations on the weapon in my research journal, of course, but there is no real way to record how I felt when I saw the staff of the last Inquisitor, lying there on my desk.

“And an elf, yes,” she added.

“Maker’s breath,” I said. “They’ll either give me tenure or burn me at the stake for this.” I looked up at her. “Will you…have you considered…the University of Orlais would be very grateful to have this artifact in their collection, Inquisitor.”

“Ah,” she shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” I bowed my head regretfully. “May I ask what its ultimate destination will be, so that I can make arrangements to study it in the future if necessary?”

She picked it up and weighed it in her hands, examining the blade of the staff.

“I’m going to keep it,” she informed me.

I nodded. “The Inquisition is an appropriate resting place for such a relic, of course,” I agreed. "I assume you have staff who will know how to preserve it properly."

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye.

“Weapons are meant to be used, Professor.” A small bit of electricity crackled along the ancient wood of the staff.

I nearly passed out, then had to restrain myself from snatching it out of her hand. She must have seen me twitch, because she smiled and handed me the artifact. I cradled it gently in my palms.

“It belongs in a museum,” I whispered.

“Weapons are meant to be used,” she repeated. “You would have apoplexy if you knew some of the blades my warriors have wielded. Cassandra struck down Corypheus’s dragon with Caliban, for example.”

“King Calenhad’s sword?” I gasped.

“That is what Empress Celene claimed when she sent me the blade,” she smiled. “Although the provenance is a bit suspect, it is still an extremely powerful weapon. Ameridan gave me that staff,” she nodded towards my hands, “and I used it to kill the same dragon he sacrificed everything to stop. It seemed appropriate.”

“Oh…” I breathed. It _was_ very poetic. Just imagine, to have spoken with him, to have received his staff and touched his hand…and avenged his death.

“I think that people are similar, actually,” she continued. “In the course of my research, I discovered that many mages found themselves in danger of possession or tempted by blood magic because they saw themselves as not fulfilling any purpose. The Maker gives us our gifts for a reason. I believe this was one of the fundamental flaws of the Circle, actually. But,” she smiled, “I am here to talk about your research, not mine. I will be leaving the area to return to Skyhold in a few days, and you are welcome to study the staff until then.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” I bowed my head. “Perhaps before you leave, you can tell me a bit about your research, and how you arrived at such an interesting topic.”

“I’ll try to make the time, if you’d like. As to why I began my studies—I had to do something with my mind, or…” she shrugged. “You are a scholar, you understand.”

I nodded. “Of course. Er…one last thing before you go, Your Worship?”

She raised her eyebrows, and I continued. “I understand that your parents are Lord and Lady Trevelyan from Ostwick? I believe that you and I might have…a connection.”

She looked at me for a moment, and I suddenly felt very presumptuous. Her face had very little expression when she replied, “They are my parents. That is correct. What of it?”

“It’s just…I think we’re cousins. Distant ones. My family’s from Starkhaven, you see. Not that it matters or anything, really. I just thought it was…interesting?”

She looked blank for one more second, and then smiled. “How wonderful!” she exclaimed. “C _ousins_ —none of my relatives asked me for favors _before_ they told me we were related. Well, perhaps Dorian. If you’re interested in genealogy, you should speak to him. The Tevinters love such things. If you’re related to me, you may also be related to Dorian. He’ll talk to your ear off about bloodlines! I was terrified you were going to tell me we were engaged at birth or something as equally ridiculous!”

“Oh no, no,” I protested, embarrassed at the very thought of being married to…to anyone, really. “My parents despair of ever marrying me off, honestly. There is not much attraction in the life of a poor scholar.”

She chuckled, back to her friendly self. “How did your parents feel about you going into this particular line of work?”

“Well, all I had to do was convince them that it was much more fashionable than the Chantry, and they sent me off to the University.”

“But you…wanted to go, yes?”

“Of course! It’s not what they would have wished for me, but it is what I believe I am meant for, so they let me go.” I thought for a moment. “I suppose it’s not too dissimilar from your weapons, then. I went somewhere I belonged, somewhere I am useful. They are rather…ridiculous people, but my parents do love me, and they are proud of my achievements in their own way. I’m sure yours are the same.”

She cocked her head at me. “I did not have any contact with my parents after the Templars took me away when I was ten.”

“Oh, yes, that would be the…case, wouldn’t it?” I blushed and felt terrible. She would have been imprisoned in the Circle, and then the Mage-Templar War, the Conclave, and the founding of the Inquisition. No time for a quick visit back to Ostwick.

She patted me on my shoulder, as my distress must have been quite evident. “Do not worry yourself, Kenric. Focus on the staff and enjoy yourself. Later, you’ll have to let me know if we really are cousins, although I’ve already killed a dragon for you, so I can’t imagine what you’d ask for after that.”

I looked down at the staff. “Will Lady Harding be accompanying you back to Skyhold, Your Worship?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her that yourself.” She patted me one more time on the shoulder. “I hope you will speak with her. People need purpose, you know, but they are much more versatile than weapons. I’ve never know a staff to get tired or consider a career change.”

There was a brisk knock at the door, and I hurried to open it. I momentarily hoped it was the lady in question, but instead the door was filled with the looming Commander.

“Excuse me, Professor,” he rumbled, “but I’m looking for the Inquisitor.”

“Oh, yes, she’s…right here. Come in?”

“Commander!” she smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“I am fine,” he replied, moving across the room to look down at her intently, “but I am not the one who got backhanded by a dragon.”

“I had my barrier up,” she looked up at him, still smiling. “I can’t hit it if I’m not up close.”

He gently captured her wrist between his fingers and inspected the bandages. “And your hands—“

“Are fine,” she interrupted. “I saw Ian and he put something smelly on them. It’s very mild frostbite—not even as bad as I got outside of Haven.”

That fact did not seem to console him. He took a deep breath. “Evelyn, I would feel better if you would go lay down,” he continued patiently. She immediately placed her fingers on his arm.

“Well, in that case, I’ll go lay down.” She turned to me. “Please excuse me, Professor. I suddenly find myself to be quite exhausted.”

“Of course, Inquisitor! Perhaps we can speak again tomorrow?”

She smiled. “I’d like that.”

After they left, I thought for a long time about Lady Harding riding off on her small pony, about people needing to feel useful, and about the Commander’s ill-concealed concern for the Inquisitor’s injuries. It must be agony to watch the woman you love constantly throwing herself into danger.


	37. An Obligation and a Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yo, this chapter is NSFW.

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

 

I made sure that Evelyn was treated for her frostbite and inspected by Ian for any other injuries, but then she wandered off when I wasn’t looking. I found her talking to Professor Kenric and convinced her to rest.

“You’re humoring me, aren’t you?” I asked her as we entered her tiny cabin.

“I’m not sure how to answer that question to your satisfaction,” she informed me. She sat on the bed and began to remove her boots. “Do _I_ think I should be resting? Eventually. Do _you_ think I should be resting? Yes. Am I resting because you want me to? Primarily. Did I agree to this because I thought I might be able to convince you to join me? Definitely.”

Evelyn looked down. “Someone ought to put a rug over this bloodstain.”

I picked up some kind of fur-rug-thing off the floor and flung it on top of the stain. Tried not to think about why the blood was there.

“You’re so capable.” She stood up and grabbed a large earthenware pitcher from the dresser. “While you’re at it, would you go find another one of these and fill it up with water?”

When I opened my mouth to ask why, she pushed the pitcher in my direction. “Humor _me_.”

By the time I returned with the pitchers, Evelyn had stripped down to her smallclothes and a loose tunic and was sitting on the bed.  She’d pulled a metal tub out of the corner, and pushed it near the dresser. There were some soap and clean cloths there, and she nodded for me to put the water next to them, then she shook her head at the tub. 

“There is not enough room for both of us to stand in this at once. You could come back in a few minutes…” She picked at the edge of her tunic, but didn’t take it off. “Are you going to stand there and watch me do this?” 

“No,” I said. “I’m going to help you. How are you going to manage this by yourself with those bandages on your hands?”

“I was going to remove them,” she shrugged. “Whatever was in Ian’s salve has done the job admirably. I asked him about the ingredients, and there’s really no way it should be as effective as it is. I have a tub of it over there if I need to reapply it.”

“Leave the bandages on,” I instructed her. “I’ll do it for you.”

“You’ll get soaked. Your armor will rust,” she complained.

“Thanks to you, my armor doesn’t rust. I’ll take it off anyway,” I told her, beginning to unfasten my gauntlets. I squinted at her. “What’s wrong, Evelyn?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. “Scars. Bruises. Sweat. The usual.”

I winced as I removed my breastplate. I had been thrown to the ground several times and had my shield pulled away. My shoulder was tender, more than I’d anticipated.

“I _have_ encountered all of those things before.”

“It doesn’t mean I have to be enthusiastic about exposing you to them. They’re a little…fresher than you’re used to seeing.” She eyed me as I placed my armor on the dresser. “Are you hurt?”

“Bruises,” I grunted. “Sore muscles.”

She frowned and rose, coming over to help me ease my doublet and tunic over my head. My shoulder was aching, and she ran cool fingers around the joint, making noises of disapproval. “Did you dislocate your shoulder? You are experiencing some swelling. This is more than just a bruise.”

I shrugged, then grimaced in pain. “Almost. It’s strained pretty severely, I think, and there’s probably something torn in there. I’ve had worse heal on its own, though. Just leave it be.”

“You should see Ian about this. In the meantime, go sit on the bed and I’ll put some salve on it. It will help with the pain and help you heal, and I’ll make you some tea later.”

“Later,” I said, and reached for the hem of her shirt. She sighed and pulled it off, then crossed her arms and started to move away, so I put my hands on her waist to hold her still.

She had some older, purple bruises on her torso, and something large and ugly was beginning to bloom green and red across her stomach, hip, and shoulder. I couldn’t help but wince.

“You must have hit the ground hard,” I told her, pulling down one side of her smallclothes to inspect her hip.

“My barrier can disperse a fair amount of kinetic energy, but it can only do so much, which is why the creature was able to knock me so far. It would have been better if I’d hit the ground, but I landed on ice.”

I’d seen it happen—seen her land, slide on the ice, lie still for a moment, and then… _get up, get up_ …stand, fire blazing from her hands.

“Mmm…” I replied, enjoying how close she was standing to me, and the feel of her skin beneath my fingers.

She shot me a look. “You’re not upset about my injuries.”

Odd, I wasn’t. I was just happy to be near her. “I don’t like to see you covered in bruises, or hurt, but…no.”

I think about lyrium every single day, but the pull is easier to push into the background, the headaches less severe, the noise in my head no longer a cacophony. But things feel…quieter…when she is close, and I allowed myself the simple pleasure of her presence. Her phylactery is gone, but I don’t need it anymore, do I?

I know will have nightmares about how close to death we all came just by being in that fight, but at least I was there this time. And fighting at her side is…magnificent.

“Go sit on the bed,” she ordered. “You’re too huge standing up for me to get a good look at your shoulder.”

I slid my arm around her waist and deliberately towered over her, enjoying how small and feminine she felt next to me. “What if I say no?”

Evelyn cast a critical eye at my shoulder. “If the thought of me, a woman who loves you and is barely clothed, tending to your injuries is so repellent, then do nothing. The swelling in your shoulder will increase and you will experience more pain. It may become necessary to immobilize the limb for several days as the tissue and sinew knits back together. I will fashion you a sling.” She raised an eyebrow. “Or you could go over to the bed and let me fuss over you. You can pretend that you do not like it, if you wish.”

I sat on the bed.

She placed a pot of salve and a roll of cloth next to me, and began removing the bandages on one of her hands.

“Leave those be,” I grumbled.

“It’s fine, look.” She sat, spreading her fingers out towards me. I took her hand and inspected it. Her fingers were a bit redder than usual, chapped and slightly greasy, but otherwise normal. I kissed her palm, then made a face. She was right—whatever was on there was awful. I wiped my mouth on my arm.

Evelyn pressed delicate fingers around my shoulder again. “Why didn’t you see the healer about this?”

“It wasn’t as sore before. I went to bathe while you were with Ian, but by the time I came back, you’d vanished.”

“So you came to glare me into resting instead of taking care of yourself?” she clucked. “Poor thing.”

She fussed about as promised, smearing the ointment on my shoulder and pressing magically chilled hands against my skin for a few minutes to help reduce the swelling. While she worked, I closed my eyes. I allowed myself just a few moments to be truly still. To just experience the feel of her hands and the sound of her voice, nattering on about trees being possessed by demons.

As she wound a bit of cloth around my shoulder—to keep salve from getting on everything, she explained—I realized that I was…content. The moment felt wonderfully typical, if I ignored the fact that I was injured because we’d been fighting a dragon earlier that day. Just a normal moment of human contact and comfort. I was so happy.

The peaceful moment didn’t last.

I opened my eyes to see Evelyn twisting a cloth between her fingers, looking away from me. Thinking, probably.

“What’s wrong, Evelyn?”

“I was just…doing some calculations,” she blurted, then snatched up the leftover bandages and salve and moved across the room to place them on the dresser. She turned to face me, but she didn’t meet my eyes and started tugging on her braid like she does when she is nervous or upset.

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What were you calculating that has you upset?”

“In your opinion as Commander of the Inquisition, how long might it take before I am able to either retire, leaving the organization intact and bringing in a successor, or the Inquisition disbands? Five years? Ten?” She shivered.

“You’re cold. Come here,” I ordered.

She crossed the room and sat next to me. I picked my mantle up off the floor and draped it around her shoulders, then pulled her close to me as I pondered what she’d asked. And why she’d asked it.

“I’m sorry, but I really don’t know, Evelyn. I can’t predict the future.” I thought for a moment. “If all remains peaceful, and absolutely nothing changes, we will be occupied on humanitarian missions for at very _least_ the next two or three years, and then we can look into decreasing the size of our army. But it depends on what the Chantry and the College of Enchanters need, and the political situation in Thedas. And you’d have to talk to Josephine about that.”

“So five years is not a terrible estimate,” she sighed, and pulled the fur around herself even tighter. “In five years, I will be….thirty-nine, Cullen.”

I frowned at her. “And? Cassandra is about that age, and just as—“ I waved my hand searching for a description I thought Evelyn would like, “—just as tough and effective as ever.”

She looked away, and was silent. She moved her hair over her shoulder and pulled at it again.

“Evelyn,” I decided to push a bit. Something was bothering her, and I couldn’t figure out what it was. “Could you please tell me why you’re asking me this? I know you’re tired, but you just fought a dragon. You need rest.”

“I…” she cleared her throat, and began speaking very slowly. “I have both an obligation and a desire. I must continue to serve the Inquisition, at least for now. A conservative estimate might be five years. That is my obligation.”

I nodded, and tried to be patient.

“I also have a desire,” she continued, “something that I _want_ more than anything in the world. I want to continue my relationship with you, to build a future. But there is a way that my obligation and my desire may conflict with each other.”

My heart began to beat faster, and I started to sweat. I did _not_ like the direction this was going.

“That is not true,” I sputtered. “It just…it just _isn’t_. We’ve had problems before, but we _always_ —“

Evelyn held up a finger, and I stopped talking. She reached over and pulled my hand into her lap, threading her fingers through mine. I looked down into her eyes, and they were very, very sad.

“You want a _family_ ,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “And while the idea is not as…unthinkable as it once seemed to me, the fact remains that the duties of a parent and the duties of the Inquisitor are not compatible. My life now is too dangerous, Cullen, and by the time the Inquisition is done with me, I might not be able—”

Ah. Things were clearer, now.

“Doesn’t matter,” I snapped.

She looked up, confused. “I—what?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll take you any way I can get you.” I reached over and pulled her into my lap as gently as possible. My shoulder twinged, but I didn’t care.

She lay her head on my chest and sighed.

The fact that she had even _considered_ the possibility of having a family with me, when previously the idea was so incredibly painful for her…I felt like my chest would crack in half, and even though I know that sounds ridiculous, that’s the only way I can describe the feeling.

“Dearest, I’d like to think that I’m one of the few people in the world who can understand how important the work you do as the Inquisitor is.” I reclaimed her fingers and pressed a kiss on the back of her hand. “And I definitely think I’m one of an even smaller group of people who understand what a rare and incredible woman you are. Evelyn, two years ago, I would have _laughed_ in the face of someone who told me that I’d ever even fall in love.”

“Oh,” she breathed. I felt her relax. Better.

I smirked down at her. “And now I’m the only man in the world who knows exactly what to do to the Inquisitor in bed to make her scream.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Tell me.”

“What?” I blinked.

“Tell me some of these things. You’ve obviously been keeping a list. Out with it.”

“I…” I most certainly did not blush. “I’ll show you later. Don’t change the subject.”

“Mmm,” she replied.

“Evelyn, I want to be with you. As far as a family goes, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. And if we need to build a bridge,” I smiled, “I’m not a shabby engineer, myself.”

“You build trebuchets, not bridges.” She fought a smile back. “Your metaphor is terrible.”

“Whatever gets you across.” I rolled my eyes. “And I _can_ build a bridge. Hopefully we’ll be needing more bridges than trebuchets in the coming months.”

I kissed her forehead. “We’ll make it work. We always do.”

“All right.” She snuggled in closer to me, and I felt her smile against my chest. I allowed myself to relax again.

“You were very brave against the dragon,” she said after a few minutes. “And afterwards, I expected you to be overprotective, or feel upset.”

“Well, I’m not,” I replied. “I mostly just feel sorry for the dragon for having to go up against  _you_.”

“In the past, you were angry when you found out I’d fought dragons.”

“When you leave to face something like that, Evelyn, I feel…helpless. Useless. Sometimes, it’s me who sent you, and I feel even worse. I don’t like sending you into danger. You _know_ that.”

“Yes, but,” she continued, “when you accompanied me to the Shrine of Dumat, and fought beside me, you were…difficult.”

“That was…I was being stupid. I’d lost control of the situation, was afraid I was going to lose you, too. It made me…irrational.” I sighed, and started to pull her closer to me. “Do we really have to talk about how I was an idiot right now?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” she replied. “Since you have expressed a desire to proceed, I am just trying to put the near future together into a form that will be acceptable and fulfilling for us both.”

I could see her mind ticking through problems, one by one, working to keep us together. One pressing problem was resolved, and it seemed she was forging ahead on the next, turning my previous concerns over in her head. Making it work. She does have an uncanny ability to make most things work, it seems, if only through sheer force of will. Or approaching things from odd angles.

“I…” I bowed my head, and buried my face in her hair, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. I didn’t want to tell her, but I had to try because she’d asked. “Two months, Evelyn. I can’t…I miss you. What I do just doesn’t feel as vital as it did before. I need my work to _mean_ something to me. Every day, I just…” My voice cracked and I stopped, unable to continue.

“Ah.” She put her arms around me, and laid a soft kiss by my injured shoulder. “Thank you for telling me. I hope things will improve.”

“I should do my duty—“ I began, but she cut me off.

“Your concerns are valid, and important. This adventure ended up being a bit of an accidental trial run, I suppose, and I think it has turned out well. I was attempting to find out why, so I could potentially continue along these lines. As I told you before, I intend to spend less time away from you and Skyhold, and would like for you to accompany me when it makes sense.”

She stroked a hand through my hair. “Something needs to change. We will make the adjustments I have suggested, and then we will reevaluate after a suitable period of time. Say, six months?”

“The Inquisition needs us both,” I sighed. “I know that.”

“Well,” she said, “The Inquisition will not need us for the rest of our lives, but that is how long I intend on keeping you around. We will see how the solution I have devised works, and iterate accordingly. In the meantime…” She eased off my lap and moved towards the tub, pulling at the band that wrapped around her breasts. “I still smell bad. Help me fix that, Commander.”

“Yes, Your Worship,” I replied, my heart beginning to beat faster.

Evelyn threw the strip of cloth at my feet, then stepped out of her smallclothes and tossed them in my direction, too. She turned her back to me and splashed some water into a basin. “Help me take my hair down,” she ordered.

As I untangled her braid, she soaped up a cloth in the basin and began to scrub herself. I attempted to remain focused on the task I had been given. Her hair, as always, was soft, and I gently ran my fingers through it, dislodging a few small sticks and tufts of grass that had worked their way in. She sighed.

“That’s nice,” she breathed. She picked up the pitcher of water and winced, putting it back down, so I took it from her.

“What I am I doing with this?” I asked.

“Can you help me wash my hair? I don’t think I can get my arm up that high. Between us, I think we’ve got one good set of shoulders.”

So I slowly poured the water on her hair, squished some soap around in it, then rinsed it again. She shivered as the cool water ran down her back and legs.

We were bruised and battered by the fight, but I also found myself feeling invigorated as well.

I never thought I'd think magic was beautiful, that's for certain. The Fade sings around her, and she grabs it and shapes it—her magic is so vital and physical, and so…alive. And _we_ were both alive, too. and she was happy with me. We had a plan for the future. It felt like…we were healing, together. What else could I ask the Maker for?

When she began to wipe the soap off her body with a clean, wet cloth, I plucked it out of her hand. She smiled at me, and then shivered as I swiped it across her chest. She smelled like soap and sweat and woman. Real, not a half-dream or a fantasy. I bent my head and licked the drop of water off the tip of her breast.

She looked down at me, then, and I looked back up at her, and…how do I put it into words? Why do I even try?

Every dream I have about my past life, it is as if I wake up dirty again, soiled by what I did, by what was once in my heart. And every time I awaken and she is beside me, there is nothing on my hands, and what is in my heart is a good and pure and righteous fire. I tried to explain this to Rylen once, and I failed to express it properly. I don’t know if I can, really.

I dropped to my knees in front of her. I ran the cloth down her thighs and calves, then, very carefully, between her legs. She shivered again.

“Do you remember,” I asked, “that horrible dress you wore the night before the ball at Halamshiral?” The top had been like a cage, lacing her in, straightening her spine, making her move like someone else, someone who wasn’t for me. She had looked beautiful, and I’d hated it.

“How could I forget?” she replied, threading her fingers through my hair. “You lost your temper and ruined the lacing.”

I placed the cloth in the tub and lay my forehead on her hip. “It made me crazy. I could see so much of your skin…I wanted to bunch all of that fabric up and crawl between your legs.”

“As I recall,” she laughed, “you tried that and eventually gave up in frustration. Had you persisted, you might have lost an eye. That dress was a menace and you were right to try to kill it. I’m sorry to say,” she sighed, “that I might have to wear something similar again someday. I hope you can restrain yourself.”

I turned my head and pressed my mouth just above the soft curls between her legs. “A different plan of attack has just occurred to me,” I said against her skin.

“Oh,” she sighed, and swayed forward just a bit. “What’s that?”

“Siege tactics,” I informed her, feeling tremendously pleased with myself in that moment.

“Mmm…” she replied. “Tell me all about it, Commander.”

“Well, when a frontal assault is impossible, due to strength of fortifications or the potential loss of life that might result—“

“—or loss of eye, yes—“ she interjected.

I ran my hand up the back of her leg. “Don’t interrupt. So when a frontal assault is impossible, under-mining begins. Troops dig down and under—“ I paused and ran my hand up her other leg, “—and thereby breach the walls.”

“Brilliant idea, Commander!” she exclaimed. “I will stand still for several hours while you dig a hole beneath my dress. Or you could ask me to remove it, and save us both time.”

“This vantage point,” I said, looking up at her, “makes me think I’d just crawl under your skirts.” I ran my tongue along the skin of her stomach, and was gratified to feel goosebumps form on the backs of her thighs.

“I suppose that’s one way for you to hide from the nobility,” she gasped. The conversation was ridiculous and I was enjoying it immensely. I tried to keep a straight face but could not help but chuckle.

“Seems a bit underhanded to me,” she continued, “but I once read an Antivan author who said—Josie could translate it better than I can—’Love and war are all one. It is lawful to use sleights and stratagems to attain the wished end.’”

“In that case,” I said, amazed I had maintained my composure for so long, “I am pleased to learn that the things I want to do to you will at least be legal in Antiva.”

I grabbed the back of her thighs and pushed my tongue between her legs. She almost fell over.

She was already quite hot and wet, and the feel of her in my mouth made me resolve to crawl under any dress that she wore in the future. Or even better, any robe. She wears more of those.

She gasped and moaned—Maker’s breath, two months, how did I even last that long without her? She’d spent more time out in the Western Approach, but that was before I knew what it was like to touch her. She was gone nearly three months then, and we hadn’t even kissed before she left. I’d focused on fortifying Griffon Wing Keep, and only made myself slightly crazy thinking about the curve of her neck. She crept into my dreams and nightmares, and I convinced myself that I’d only imagined that there might be something more between us. I’m so glad I was wrong.

I continued to lick her until her legs started to shake, and she leaned forward to steady herself on my shoulders.

“Ouch,” I said. “Shoulder.”

“Oh no!” she exclaimed, stepping out of the tub and backing away with her hands up. “I’m so—“

I stood up and stalked after her until she bumped against the wall.

“Stay,” I told her, pushing her back to ensure she was braced firmly, then I knelt in front of her and began to lick her again. I wanted her spread wider, so I ran my hand down her calf, gripped her ankle, and guided it over my good shoulder. I buried my mouth between her legs, and she cried out and began to move. I raised my hands and pressed her hips against the wall.

“Ow!” she said, and I pulled back.

“Hip,” she winced.

I snatched my hands away and began to apologize. As I did, she slid down the wall, leaned forward, and kissed me very carefully on the mouth. I stopped apologizing.

“There,” she said. “We know that, at least, is safe.”

She ran her hand down my chest, then slid a finger into the waistband of my breeches. “I would attempt to ravish you right here on the floor, but seeing as we are both apparently sore everywhere, why don’t you go over to that nice comfortable bed and take your pants off?”

“That…probably makes sense,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck until my head cleared and I was able to stand. I pulled her up after me and kissed her for a long time, lingering on her neck and ear, until she pushed me towards the bed.

She came over and sat next to me while I fumbled with my breeches and greaves and boots, flinging them across the room, one after another. This woman causes me to disrespect my armor in the most shocking of ways. I turned to kiss her and almost put my hand on her bruised ribs.

“Maker’s breath,” I hissed, snatching my hand back.

She chuckled, then put a hand on her side. “Ouch,” she laughed. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Lay back. Carefully,” I added.

She complied, but winced again when she lay down. She grabbed a pillow and shoved it under her head.

“What is it, Evelyn? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she protested, “I just hit my head at the Tevinter fortress. The healer took a look at it, but I have a bruise. And my neck is sore.”

I ran my hand down her stomach. “Evelyn, all of you is a bruise right now. Maybe we should—“

“You’re a smart man.” Her eyes were half-open and her lips curved, and I saw that I had been about to make a terrible suggestion. “Figure it out.”

I moved to the end of the bed and wrapped my fingers around her ankle, pushing it up and out. I slowly eased myself up between her legs, putting most of my weight on my good arm.

I paused for a moment, and looked up at her. “Are you all right?” I asked. “This doesn’t hurt?”

“No,” she purred, “but if you stay like that all evening you might get stiff.”

I laughed at her choice of words, and kissed my way up her inner thigh. She shivered and sighed, and gasped when I finally began to lick between her legs again. I watched her face, and saw when she closed her eyes and started to pant and make little impatient noises. I tried to go slowly, I really did, but she was sweating and moving against me, and I couldn’t restrain myself. So I used everything at my disposal—lips, tongue, fingers—until her body bent up and she let out a long sigh, then fell back on the bed with a moan and started to twitch. I kept my mouth between her legs, riding her orgasm out with her until she fluttered her fingertips over my shoulders, and I pulled away.

I pillowed my head on her thigh, attempting to regain a bit of control. Of course I had tried this particular act before with other women, but like everything else, it is so very intense when I am with Evelyn that there is no comparison. I know _how_ to do these things because I have done them before, but now everything is drastically different, and I often catch myself feeling surprised.

I have found that bringing her to climax in this way is so arousing that I have to remember to keep my hands off of myself. This feeling has its advantages, of course, but I was not in a position to simply slide up between her legs because of my shoulder and her myriad of bruises. I didn’t want to hurt her.

So I lay there, panting and trying not to rub against the bed like a pubescent boy. I tried not to think of the softness of her skin and the scent of her body, but of course, that was all I could think of.

After a few moments of this, she ran her hands through my hair and down my neck. She must have felt how tense I was, because she sat up a bit and looked down at me.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” she said, her voice slightly slurred, “that you appear to have reached a bit of an impasse. Can I help?”

“Just…hold still,” I ground out. I pushed myself up and knelt between her legs. “There's something I've—can I—?”

“Anything you want,” she purred.

I looked down at her. She lay there, spread out in front of me. Her body was soft and her green eyes languid. I’ve imagined her like this a thousand times.

When she came to Haven, I watched her because she was a strange mage who had arrived under extremely unorthodox circumstances. I was not attracted to her, and why would I be?

But soon after, the faceless, amorphous woman I thought of while seeking sexual release started to change. A braid, green eyes, a smile surfaced—all easily pushed away, but there, nonetheless. I told myself that I did not want her, that she was too plain, too odd, that I had the self-control to not desire a mage, but it was all a lie. She took up residence in not only my nightmares, but my personal fantasies, too.

After Haven fell, I tried to stop, because I couldn’t tell myself it was harmless anymore. If I didn’t stop reading and re-reading her letters, if I didn’t stop planning and rehearsing what to say to her when she came by, if I didn’t stop thinking about her at night when I was alone in my bed, I was going to get hurt.

I didn’t stop. And oh, Maker, has it hurt, but not for the reasons I thought.

I didn’t get hurt because she rejected me in my weakest hour because, somehow, that isn’t what happened. Instead, I got hurt because one day, she offered me a gift, and selfishly, I took it.

Since then, I’ve been hurt because it’s hard to unbend, because a poorly-set bone has to be broken again to heal properly, and because half the time, _she won’t fucking do what I want her to_.

I have a sneaking suspicion that sometimes, it just hurts to be in a relationship with another person. It's a price I'm more than willing to pay.

She lay in the bed and smiled up at me, that secret, mysterious smile that women must somehow teach each other, just like I had imagined her smiling up at me a thousand times before. I looked back down at her, wrapped my hand around my cock, and began to stroke myself.

Evelyn’s smile deepened, and she propped herself up on her good elbow. She ran her hand down her stomach and dipped her fingers between her legs. I groaned.

She reached out and tapped my wrist. “Let me help,” she murmured. I moved my hand, and she wrapped her wet fingers around my cock. Panting and straining, I covered her small hand with mine and thrust into it repeatedly, rubbing against her damp palm.

What I’d pictured in the very beginning was nothing like the reality of Evelyn. Her hair was longer than I'd thought. She was covered with bruises earned in battle and old scars I didn’t know about until later. She smelled like lavender. Her breasts were absolutely beautiful, her skin unimaginably soft, and her smile more seductive than I could have possibly imagined. All of it, the hair, the bruises, the scars, the skin, the smile—it was all perfect.

Sweating and growling, I arched against her hand and let out a long groan as I came. The experience was intense, and when I was finally spent, I collapsed on my back next to her, gasping.

After a few minutes, she looked at me, her eyes half-lidded and seductive, and observed, “ _You_ made a mess.”

I looked over at her. Somehow I’d managed to spill my seed all over her hand, arm, breasts, and stomach. That memory of her lounging in bed next to me, sated and damp with the evidence of what we’d done together, will stay with me for…a long time.

“I’m—I should have asked if you—sorry,” I finished lamely, because my brains had turned to mush.

“Don’t be sorry,” she murmured. “You did ask, and I said yes, remember? I enjoyed that—and this,” she trailed a finger down her wet stomach, “very much. We’ll have to do it again sometime soon.”

“Oh. Good,” I replied intelligently.

“However, in the meantime, I am…hm, how do I phrase this?” she considered. “ _Cold_. And the colder this gets, the less I am enjoying it. And it is not an optimal situation for me to crawl over you, because I am stiff and…sticky. Could you please—“

“Maker’s breath, I am an ass,” I exclaimed. Nobody ever ends up cold or sticky in fantasies.

I brought her a damp cloth and sat next to her as she warmed it between her hands and swiped it over her body.

“You know,” she began, “most of my work in the field doesn’t end this way. There’s usually a lot more sleeping on the ground and really, no sex at all. After having to negotiate all of our bruises and strains today, I think that may have been a blessing in disguise.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yes, well, I’ve never accompanied you on one of these dragon-slaying expeditions before. I didn’t expect it to be quite so…exhilarating.”

“Maker,” she sighed. “The way you felt is nothing compared to how _frisky_ Iron Bull gets. We didn’t take him with us so he’s going to sulk instead, of course.”

I smiled down at her. “You seem to be feeling better. I wish I could credit some small part of that to my lovemaking.”

“Yes,” she nodded, and yawned. “That's part of it. And now that everything’s a bit more settled, you will come with me more often. That’s all there is to it.”

“I see,” I chuckled. “I find I cannot argue with that, based on today’s success. I will come with you as often as I am physically able. With you, over you, on you…”

My feeble joke made me contemplate the logistics of making love to her again. Honestly, I had fought a dragon that morning, my shoulder had begun to ache, and the earlier conversation had given me a bit of a scare. The prospects for further lovemaking were not good, but I was content to hold her and rest for the remainder of the day. The thought was pleasant. I wonder if I am getting old.

She was quiet for a while, and I started to drift off when she spoke again.

“We’ll have to make arrangements with Ser Rylen.”

“Excuse me?” I said, shaking myself awake. “Arrangements for _what_ , exactly?”

“We’ll expand his duties, alter yours.” She trailed a finger along my arm. “Wait—what did you think I meant?”

“Nothing I’m even going to consider, Evelyn,” I huffed. “You’re supposed to rest. Stop making obscene plans for Rylen and go to sleep.”

“Obscene…!” she huffed back, then rolled on her side. “Not this again. But I suppose he _is_ a rather handsome man if you like facial tattoos…”

I’d gladly follow her anywhere. Except possibly into bed with Rylen.

“You’re welcome to him,” I informed her, “but I’m not interested. I’m sure his sheets are full of sand and scorpions.”

She rolled onto her back with a laugh, and looked over at me, her eyes sad again. “It’s always something, isn’t it? This is done, but even now, there’s still Kirkwall and blood mages to be dealt with. And my parents. And Liam will be going through withdrawal for a long time.”

I grabbed her and pulled her close to me. “And that…thing in your dreams. Evelyn, you’ll tell me if it comes back, won’t you?”

“Ouch, you’re crushing me,” she complained, and I loosened my grasp.

“I do wonder if the Anchor makes me more vulnerable to strange things slipping through.” She looked at her hand. “It’s a shame, really, that I know so little about it. I’m attached to the Fade in many ways, but I don’t understand how to truly use this.”

“I would rather you stay away from the Fade entirely,” I grumbled.

“You—“ she poked my chest, “—do not get to simultaneously complain about me not sleeping enough _and_ tell me not to go into the Fade. Mages don’t get to choose.”

“I know, I know,” I sighed.

I thought for a moment. If she’d seriously been considering the possibility having a family, that means she might have been thinking about other possibilities for our future, too.

There was just one small thing left between us, something to take care of before I asked, and it was my responsibility to deal with it. I felt terribly guilty, and I knew it might upset her, but I needed her to know about the phylactery before it began to seem like I had been keeping a secret. So I’d tell her, and then I’d ask her. But probably not in the same evening.

“Evelyn, there’s something I should tell you about.”

“Yes?” she said, running her hand through my hair.

“Your phylactery. It’s…it broke.”

“Oh,” she replied, and her hand stilled in my hair. “That’s…it’s strange to think about it being gone. They took it from me when I was ten. The blood, I mean. I suppose you knew that.”

I remained silent, feeling even guiltier than before.

“Some days, it’s the only thing that keeps you from running.” Her voice sounded distant. “Most days, the Circle is your home, and you build a life for yourself there. From time to time, you still think about escape. But there’s always this _thing_ that stops you.”

My heart hurt. I am not so stupid to think that what we experienced was at all the same thing, but she is right when she says the Circles damaged everyone within them, Templar and mage. Powerful and powerless alike, we were all trapped, and we ate ourselves alive.

“I would have made it farther than most," she acknowledged. "Still, I was doing good work where I was, and the statistical probability of long-term success was…not good. Liam made sure to remind me of that from time to time.”

I looked up at her. She seemed calm and relaxed. Not nearly as upset as I thought she’d be, not about the phylactery, and not about her memories of the Circle. It was _not_ the appropriate time to ask, however. Even I knew that.

“I’m sorry, Evelyn.” I put my head on her breast and sighed. “I never should have kept it. It’s just that no one had ever given me anything so…you—what it meant to me—” I cleared my throat. “It was…very important. And very dangerous.”

“I knew keeping it was risky,” she murmured. “I thought about breaking it myself, but it was essentially useless if I had it with me, and I thought if I gave it to you, if you knew I trusted you, that it could do some good for once. Naïve, really. It was too much to ask anyone to keep it safe. I should have disposed of it long ago. And now Skyhold’s not as secure as we hoped it would be, so it’s good that it’s gone, because someone could use it for tracking.”

I looked back up at her and shook my head. “Phylacteries are not just useful for tracking, Evelyn—spells can be cast through them, spells that can affect the subject nearly anywhere in the world.”

“Oh,” she frowned for just a moment, then her expression smoothed. “Liam never had me do anything like that. I was…unaware. He probably didn’t want me using blood magic. Well, dearest, it sounds as if it is best that it is destroyed, then. Thank you for keeping me safe.”

She patted my chest. “How did it break?”

“I—it didn’t break.” I looked away. “Liam saw I had it, and he…crushed it.”

“Oh.” She looked up at the ceiling, her face blank. “Oh. Well, either way, it is gone.”

“Evelyn…” Her numb response was disconcerting. I hadn’t seen her shut down like that in some time, and I still was not sure what to do about it. It’s almost worse than when she cries, to be honest. “I’m sorry, Evelyn. I shouldn’t have let him take it. I should have been the one to deal with it, and it should have been long ago.”

She looked down at me, her beautiful green eyes so serene. “It is not your fault, dearest. It is very difficult to get Liam to stop doing anything once he has an idea in his head.”

“Do…you want to talk about it?” I attempted.

“Perhaps later,” she replied, and ran her hand through my hair again. Why was _she_ soothing _me_? “It will be well. I should rest. Would you hold me?”

“All right,” I sighed. “If you need to…”

“Of course,” she murmured. Her fingers danced over my temples, gentle and cool. “And Cullen? I will deal with that worthless piece of nug excrement when and where I feel like it. In the meantime, he can sit and think about what he’s done. If I know Liam, he’ll start feeling bad in about two days.”

“Oh,” I replied.

She let out a throaty laugh that turned into a yawn, and I allowed myself to relax under her hands. I contemplated putting my arm around her, but she lay on the side of my injured shoulder.

“Let me try something. Roll onto your other side,” she murmured, and I complied, moving my back up against her. She slipped one arm under my head, wrapped the other around my waist and snuggled up close against me. It felt a little strange because she is smaller than I am, but on the other hand, she was still touching me, and I will always be happy about that. I could feel her breath against the back of my neck, and her breasts were pressed up against me. It was still very intimate. I was content.

“Go to sleep,” she whispered, and kissed my neck. “It’s been a stressful day. We’ll deal with everything else that needs to be done. Just not today.”

After a few minutes, her breathing grew deep and regular, and she let out a small snore. I lay next to her for a long time, thinking about the future, then finally drifted off too.

When dawn came, she was her usual cheerful self, if still a bit sore. She nagged me into going to see the healer about my shoulder, and Ian applied more of the stinky salve to help with the pain and swelling. He instructed me to keep it still for at least part of the day, so I have been catching up on paperwork, reviewing supply levels and reports, sending messages, and writing in my journal. And of course Evelyn has brought me more tea than I can bring myself to drink.

A few more days here, and I hope our business with the Avvar will be done. We can finally return to Skyhold together, and start working on…the future, I suppose. Maker knows I’ve thought about it enough. It is time to put thoughts into action.


	38. The Answer is No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UGH. Cat stomped around on my keyboard and deleted the chapter somehow, so I have to repost. Your comments are lost, guys, and I'm really sorry. I did read them all--I get email notifications, so all of your broken hearts made it to me. I will try to heal them ASAP.
> 
> I made one clarification about lore in those lost comments that I'm going to include in an end note. I hope you know if you're confused or whatever about what I'm doing that you are always welcome to ask for clarification, so thanks to TurboNerd. Some times things get mixed up or lost (or DELETED) in a long fic like this. Thanks to all of you Loyal Readers for sticking with me through a long sequel to a long story! I really do adore and appreciate you all.

_A letter from Knight-Captain Rylen to Commander Cullen:_

Cullen:

Got your crow. I checked with the herbalist and someone definitely took those mushrooms out of the garden.

Day or two after you left, Fiona came by to tell me that she’d heard some third-hand rumors of something shifty going on out in the Hinterlands. Pilgrim’s cousin found some mutilated animals in the woods, pilgrim said something in passing to one of the healers, who informed Fiona of it immediately. Fiona came to me, asked me for help putting together a team to go look into it.

Sent out Belinda, Rion, a junior Templar, and one of the new Knight-Enchanters Commander Helene and Liam have been training. Included Vael just to get him out of my hair. And wouldn’t you know it, yesterday I got a message that they’re on their way back to Skyhold with a blood mage in tow. Don’t know if he has anything to do with the goings-on at Skyhold, but I’ll give him to Fiona’s people to interrogate and see what they can get out him.

Word spread fast, of course. Bryony says the Tempars are feeling good about the possibility of getting out there and working again. There’s hope that the mages won’t be as soft on blood magic as the rumors might’ve said. Gabrielle tells me the mages are uneasy about what’s going to happen to the captive, but most of them are happy to be seen looking for unsavory elements, and glad that Fiona’s going to deal with the bastard once he gets back to Skyhold.

I told Fiona that the Inquisitor would still pronounce sentence on the captive, but that her opinion as to the best course of action would certainly be taken into account. I think she’ll believe it when she sees it.

So that’s where we are. Hope you’re keeping the Inquisitor safe. No sign of anything odd going on around Skyhold since you’ve been gone, other than those missing mushrooms. I’ll be saving the picture you drew of it for a special occasion, so don’t you worry.

 

Rylen

 

 

* * *

_A letter from Commander Cullen to Knight-Captain Rylen:_

 

Rylen:

An encouraging update, for once. Thank you.

I know you don’t need me to say it, but I’m going to anyway: keep that blood mage safe. We don’t need further tensions with the mages. As with Walter, make sure that at least one mage is guarding him at all times. We’ll have to figure out what to do with Walter when I get back, but I will concern myself with that when the time comes.

Or perhaps it is simply best if the Inquisitor negotiate such things with Fiona, and we remain out of it entirely. I admit I am interested in seeing the results. I’m sure you’re interested in avoiding work, so we both win.

The Jaws of Hakkon have been defeated and their leader killed. I estimate that we will remain here for another week to organize the remaining troops. I will be sending at least three platoons back to Skyhold because of the fresh units supplied by the Inquisition. I will evaluate troop levels while I am here, perform some inspections, and adjust if necessary.

I assume our Avvar allies will want to hold some kind of celebration that the Inquisitor will attend. The Inquisitor will speak to Josephine about formalizing diplomatic relations and potential trade when she returns to Skyhold.

All in all, I think the mission turned out better than could have been anticipated. I will need to have Dagna make me another shield because mine was eaten, but beyond that, the healers have been able to deal with any injuries the Inquisitor’s party sustained in the fighting.

 

Cullen

 

 

* * *

_From Varric Tethras’s notes for Stern In Skyhold: The Inquisitor Trevelyan Story, Part II:_

 

So after we killed the dragon and saved everyone’s lives for the eighth? ninth? time, we lay around and rested.

After two or three days, the Avvar had the bright idea of sending a small delegation down to our base camp. There was an Avvar woman I hadn’t seen before; Arrken Feldsen, the guy who runs the Arena; and good old Sky-Watcher, the Avvar we picked up in the swamp. I guess the Lady Bear decided to come too, because when they showed up at the gates, there was Storvacker, lumbering at their side.

They (well, not the bear, but everyone else) presented the Inquisitor with a bunch of fur, dried meat, and whatsits carved out of bone, and invited the lowlanders who had defeated the dragon to a feast at Stone-Bear Hold. The Inquisitor was in the process of graciously accepting (she’s really gotten better at that sort of thing, thank the Maker), when the bear started to circle around the wagon, sniffling and snuffling, climbing in and finally clawing through a package of jerky and gobbling it up.

At this point, Curly must have gotten wind that there was a bear and a bunch of Avvar in the camp, because he came striding assertively up to the delegation, looking windswept and bold and shiny in his armor in that way that makes the ladies swoon, or so I’m told by the ladies. Which ladies, beyond the Inquisitor? I’ll never tell, but the Avvar woman certainly smiled at him.

Trailing behind Cullen was Knight-Captain Liam, who was up and about after a couple of days in bed, looking even more rumpled and scruffy than usual.

The Inquisitor motioned Cullen closer, and Liam ambled up to me.

“Dwarf,” he said.

“Human,” I replied. We stood together and watched the magic of diplomacy unfold.

The Inquisitor was introducing the Commander to the Avvar when the bear perked her head up and sniffed the air.

“And this is…Storvacker,” continued the Inquisitor. “She’s a full member of the tribe and…a bear. Obviously.”

“I…see,” he said, eying the bear.

“Storvacker is the holdbeast for Stone-Bear Hold,” she explained. “She…oh…”

The bear lumped out of the wagon and made her way over to the Commander. She cocked her head to the side and contemplated him for a moment.

“Think it’s gonna eat him?” Liam asked me.

“Even odds that it tries,” I replied out of the corner of my mouth. The Inquisitor shot us a dirty look, and we shut up.

“Storvacker approves of you,” Sky-Watcher informed Cullen. “A great honor for a lowlander.”

“Oh, thank—“

Storvacker reared up on its hind legs and very carefully placed its paws on Cullen’s shoulders. He froze. The bear began to lick the furry part of the Commander’s coat.

“ _What_ is it _doing_?” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

Arrken shrugged. “Storvacker does what she wants.” Apparently what Storvacker wanted to do was lick the Commander. I guess all sorts of ladies love him.

“Maker’s breath, Evelyn, get this thing off me,” he muttered.

“Er…I don’t…” she began, but luckily the bear chose that moment to finish slurping the Commander, remove her paws from his person, and lumber off out the gate, in the direction of the river.

Curly looked down at his slimy shoulder, and I started to laugh.

“Does that count as trying to eat him?” Liam asked.

“Nope,” I chortled. “I think the bear’s in love with him.”

“Shut it, dwarf,” Curly snapped, and glared at Arrken. “What was that all about?”

The Avvar shrugged. “I cannot claim to know the mind of Storvacker, lowlander, but…she might have thought you were a cub with mange?”

This entire trip—the hills, the spiders, the giant gross bogfisher, the dragon, and climbing mountains every blasted day—all of it suddenly became worthwhile. I sat down on a stump and laughed until I cried. Liam crossed his arms and looked stoic, but his moustache was twitching.

The Inquisitor rolled her eyes at me and gave Cullen an apologetic smile.

She passed him a handkerchief or something. “Get yourself cleaned up, Commander. I’ll see that these gifts are taken care of.” He glowered at her as she moved away, and dabbed at the bear drool on his fancy coat. Poor bastard looked angry enough to spit, but he still folded up that piece of cloth she’d given him  _very carefully_  and put it in his pocket, even if it was covered in ursine slime.

Arrken walked over to me and Liam, cleared his throat, and looked at me. “Skald, this man,” he gestured at Cullen, “he is an elder of the Inquisition?”

“Err, yes?” I replied, slightly confused. “I suppose so. Commander Cullen is part of the War Council and one of the Inquisitor’s most valued advisors. He trains and leads her army.”

“Indeed,” he nodded in approval. “I, too, lead warriors in the tests of the Mountain-Father. Your men are fierce, and loyal to your thane. It is good to see.” He straightened his shoulders and pulled himself up to his full height, which was even taller than Curly. What do these people eat? Can’t just be fish and jerky. Maybe it’s something in the mountain air?

He turned to Liam. “You are an elder as well?”

“Nope,” Liam replied. “Just old.”

“Very well, lowlander,” he addressed Cullen, “I do not know your customs, but I have seen with my own eyes that Inquisitor First-Thaw has drawn the favor of Korth Mountain-Father, and Sky-Watcher tells me that the Lady of the Skies smiles upon her as well. She is not young or beautiful, but her deeds are great, and even if Rilla of the Fireside does not bless us, I do not care.”

Cullen’s eyebrows did that thing they do when he’s deciding whether or not to be pissed off. Liam’s moustache did that thing that people with moustaches do instead of frowning like normal people.

“Elder of Sky Hold and the Inquisition,” he continued, “I tell you that I  _will_  take Inquisitor First-Thaw back to Stone-Bear Hold. There will be a great celebration.”

“Varric,” Cullen snapped, “what in the Maker’s name is he talking about?”

“I…he’s inviting us to a party?” I shrugged. “I think? I can’t understand half the things these people say to me, and  _they_  can’t understand the other half of what I’m saying to them.”

“There will be a feast, yes,” Arkken nodded. “You approve, then?”

Cullen looked at me and I shrugged again.

“I like parties,” I offered. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“I have no objections, but you should probably check with the Inquisitor,” Cullen frowned. “She makes her own decisions.”

An enormous grin split the Avvar warrior’s face. “Excellent!” He clapped Cullen on the shoulder and strode away, still smiling.

“Idiot,” Liam observed.

“Well, that seems to have made him happy. I hope I didn’t just agree to something stupid because of you, Varric.” Curly glared at me for a moment, then sighed. “This rest was necessary for everyone, but it will be good to return to Skyhold. Have you received any reply from Guard-Captain Aveline about our plans for Kirkwall?”

“Yeah, she’s still complaining about another army trying to march into her city and take over, but I’m sweetening her up. She has a soft spot for me.” I winked at him. “But it’s going to take a lot to sell the city on this mage organization her Inquisitorialness has dreamed up. People in Kirkwall have long memories.”

“As far as Aveline can tell,” I continued, “the Mage Underground’s still active in the city, but it seems to have split up into several factions. She thinks a lot of them are just mages displaced by the war, and they’d be happy to join a College of Enchanters as long as it’s not just another Circle. A couple of them have even joined the City Guard.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Mostly healers, but a few are out there on patrols. It’s been good for everyone, I think. As for the rest of the Underground…” I shook my head. “My sources say there are still some nasty pieces of work out there, but they’ve mostly been laying low.”

Liam frowned. “Somebody needs to get in there and root out that scum.”

“Easier said than done, especially in Kirkwall, Knight-Captain. There are more bolt-holes in that city than you could imagine.” Cullen shot me a look. “If you knew where Anders is, you wouldn’t tell me, would you?”

“Curly, a  _lot_  of people would like to know where Anders really is,” I sighed, “myself among them. When Hawke…didn’t come back, I got my Carta contacts to get a letter to the Underground. He wrote back eventually, but I’d bet he’s long gone from Kirkwall. He’s crazy, but he’s not stupid.”

“I didn’t know that.” Cullen narrowed his eyes. “I want to see that letter. I need to know if he’s planning something.”

“I didn’t tell you about it because you run the army, not the spy network. I showed it to Leliana after I read it, and she took it.” I shrugged. “If there was anything in there, you know she’d have taken care of it.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Cullen frowned and looked away. “I should have stopped him. I can’t believe I didn’t see how dangerous he was.”

“It happens.” Liam shook his head. “Every once in a while, even I got surprised. You just try to be glad you aren’t dead and then move on.”

“The man was  _my_  friend!” I shook my head. “At least, I thought he was my friend. I should have seen when it was getting to him, should have gotten him out of Kirkwall. Blondie really just wanted to run a clinic, help people, but the things the Templars did to mages…he was a healer. I think he just couldn’t take it anymore, and with that  _thing_  whispering to him all the time…”

I shook my head. “Even Hawke didn’t know it was coming.”

“Meredith, Anders…I was blind, Varric.” Cullen rubbed his hands across his face.

“Shouldn’ta had you back on active duty after Kinloch,” Liam grunted. “And then a promotion? And you that young? Doesn’t make sense unless someone above you wanted shit to go real bad, real fast.”

“And Anders…” I don’t know why I kept talking, but I wanted someone to know, someone who hadn’t beaten the story out of me.

“Before it happened, he told Hawke he’d found a solution—a way to separate himself from that…thing inside his head. Justice.” My voice sounded…strange. Distant. “Just needed some components for a spell, he said. Just go gather them up, he said. And so she crawled through the fucking sewers in Darktown, all because she thought she could save him. For once, she had  _hope_. She was finally going to fix something. I hadn’t seen her that happy since…in years. And then he took it all and used it to blow up the Chantry.”

Too personal, that. Don’t like thinking about it. Strike it all later.

“I’m sure that’s a metaphor for something, but I don’t know what it is anymore.” I heaved myself up off the stump, suddenly feeling heavy. “Nobody knew, Cullen. It’s not much comfort, I know, but…nobody. Sometimes I think the Maker wasn’t even looking that day.”

 I patted him on the shoulder. Then I wiped the bear drool off on my pants.

“Besides, if I knew where Anders was, I’d go kick his ass myself for breaking my friend’s heart.” I raised an eyebrow. “That’s probably something that  _you_ should keep in mind as well, Curly.”

“Why should I—“ he sputtered, then glared at me. “Oh, very funny, dwarf. You’re late to the game. This one’s been threatening me for months.”

He nodded at Liam, who shrugged and scratched his stubble.

I chuckled. “You should see your face. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her if she goes to Kirkwall.”

He looked across the camp, where the Inquisitor was chatting with the Avvar representatives.

“I appreciate the offer, Varric.” He swallowed. “With the Templar Order disbanded, the Inquisitor is thinking of…other options. If she needs me to help her organize in Kirkwall, I will…I will go.”

What?! I almost fell over. Curly offering to go back to Kirkwall was like…I can’t even think of a metaphor for that one, either. That’s how crazy that shit is.

Even Liam raised his eyebrows, which probably took some effort considering how heavy those enormous things probably are. I’m surprised Dorian hasn’t snapped and plucked them in the night. He’s probably just biding his time, sharpening his tweezers. Storvacker better look out, too.

“Interesting,” I said calmly and suavely. Cullen suspected nothing of my surprise, because I will always be sneakier and smarter than him. “Thank you for warning me in advance. I remember your opinions on sea travel the last time we crossed the Waking Sea. Maybe I’ll arrange for a separate vessel this time. Care to tell me more about these plans over an ale and a game of Wicked Grace?”

“Never,” he snapped. “Get  _her_  to tell you about it. I’m never getting near you and a deck of cards again.”

“Oh, well, it just so happens…” I grinned, pulling a deck of cards out of my pocket.

“Goodbye, Varric,” he said, and started to walk off.

“Varric! Commander” The Inquisitor’s voice snapped across the camp. “Get over here,  _now_!”

“What did you do, Varric?” Cullen demanded as we walked over. Liam wisely stayed behind like a smart man whose name hadn’t been bellowed by an angry woman.

“Why does it have to be  _my_  fault?” I complained. “Always blaming the dwarf. We’re  _lucky_  dwarves can’t be mages, or everyone would blame us for _everything_  bad that ever happened in the history of Thedas.”

“I don’t blame dwarves for everything, I blame  _you_ ,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth.

The Inquisitor approached with our Avvar guests and glared at both of us.

“Which one of you,” she demanded of us, “told Arrken Feldsen that he was allowed to try to kidnap and marry me?”

My jaw dropped and I started to laugh. “Oh, you hear  _that_ , Curly?”

“Kidnap?” Cullen growled. I laughed so hard I had to lean on a tree. “ _Marry_?”

“It was your lowlander elder, the Commander,” Arrken complained. “He approved my request after consulting with your Skald. They told me to speak with you, so I did.”

“Arrken Feldsen, I told you not to attempt this,” grumbled Sky-Watcher. “She is thane of her own lowland hold and a mighty warrior in her own right.”

“I know!” Arrken exclaimed. “What a fight it would be!”

“You—“ Cullen began, turning this amazing blotchy shade of red, but the Inquisitor placed her hand on Curly’s shoulder, and he shut his mouth.

“Arrken Feldsen, I am flattered by your attentions, but I am already…spoken for. Sky-Watcher, please help me explain what this means.”

“She is betrothed to this man,” Sky-Watcher grunted, nodding at Cullen. “The Lady of the Skies has told me they are fated for one another. Leave Inquisitor First-Thaw alone, or she will feed you to her hold-beast.”

“We have a hold-beast?” I asked from my tree, then started laughing again. “You mean the bog unicorn?”

“It is mighty, and terrifying,” Sky-Watcher responded, “and I have seen it feed upon the flesh of the vanquished many times.”

“It eats beets, too,” Evelyn protested. “It really prefers beets.”

“Maker’s breath, Evelyn, has that  _thing_  been eating people?” Cullen was turning purple. I hoped he was breathing.

“It…doesn’t happen that often,” she responded weakly.

I started looking around for Dorian. He had to see this.

“This lowlander is not married to Inquisitor First-Thaw yet,” Arrken argued. “I could fight him and settle the matter.”

Cullen threw his hands up in the air and stormed off.

Feldsen scratched his face. “If the lowlander won’t fight for you, and he hasn’t carried you off—“

“Arrken Feldsen,” Evelyn snapped. “Leave it be. The laws of my people say that I cannot marry  _anyone_ , not ever, because I am…an augur.”

The whole thing suddenly stopped being funny and started turning into another one of those stories that maybe I’ll never tell. I’m starting to amass more of those than I’d like.

“This causes me…great pain. But if I could marry someone, it would be that man, and not you. I  _am_  sorry,” she added gently, “but I am not for you.”

The Avvar warrior shrugged philosophically. I suppose I should be happy he didn’t try to fight me, just because I was there.

“It was worth the attempt. Perhaps we will meet again, Inquisitor First-Thaw,” he smiled. She gave him a regal nod, and he walked away.

Sky-Watcher made a frustrated noise. “I tried to tell that idiot that the Lady of the Skies indicated you were for another, but he wouldn’t listen.” He paused, and frowned. “I have been watching the skies, Inquisitor, and the portents are strange. The sparrows, they say a storm forms in the north and wolves gather to the west, but…I cannot say when. Now is the time. If it is to be done, it should be soon.” He moved after Arrken, leaving me and the Inquisitor alone for a moment.

For a moment, she looked…very, very sad, but Liam ambled up, and she pulled her mask back on and was the Inquisitor again. I’d seen Hawke do that so many times, using the persona of the Champion to conceal the terrible ache, the burden of all that loss and pain. I try to trust in the Maker, but in my quietest moments, I know He asks too much of my friends.

“Everything all right, then?” Liam drawled. “You get married to an Avvar while you weren’t paying attention?”

“Mages can’t get married to anyone. You are aware of that.” Her eyes had that creepy calm that she gets sometimes. “Did you need something, Ser Liam?”

"Look..." He scratched at his moustache. “You aren’t gonna drag that boy to Kirkwall, are you? That’s about the stupidest—“

“Your opinion is noted. If you’d please excuse me, I would like to confer with Varric.”

“Right,” he snapped, and stalked off to who-knows-where. Hopefully to bathe.

Evelyn sighed.

“You know,” I said carefully, “that Sky-Watcher, he’s a  _priest_ , isn’t he?” I pushed myself off the tree.

She smiled at me then, a horrible bittersweet thing that was barely a smile at all. I know what it’s like to smile one of those smiles. To grasp at straws, trying to get to something that just…isn’t for you.

“I’m several months ahead of you, Varric, but thank you for thinking of me. I had better go check on Cullen. You know how sensitive he can be.”

“Err…sure. Good luck with that,” I said. Sensitive. Right.

 

 

* * *

_A personal letter from Divine Victoria to Inquisitor Trevelyan, dated some four months ago:_

 

Dear Evelyn:

I am so sorry, but the answer is no. For now.

I am working so hard to keep things together here. It seems every day brings a new rebellious sect or protest, and thus far, I have been able to bring most of them back to the Chantry, but it wears on me and undermines my authority.

I need the Inquisition strong, and I need the Inquisitor to be even stronger. I need you to support the College of Enchanters and the changes to the Chantry. I need you to work as a force of justice and reconciliation, not a distraction.

I am sorry. I cannot give you what  _you_  need.

So many forces are already working against the mages, against me, and the Seekers are not yet reformed enough to tip the scales in our favor. The situation is precarious, more than anyone can know. Even the most faithful say it is too much, too fast. We must give them enough time to adjust before we make even more changes, Evelyn.

I know that the Maker has already asked so much from you and Cullen, my friend, and I am asking you for more. It is not fair, and I know it. We have already seen so much change in our lifetimes, and I can only tell you something that I myself truly hate to hear: please, be patient.

I will speak to you of this again. It will take more time, perhaps a year or two, but I will not forget. I swear. Tell Cullen that I’m sorry.

Walk in the Maker’s sight. All my love to you, my dear friend,

 

Leliana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lore clarification that got lost with the comments, and I wanted to make sure folks saw if they were feeling confused:
> 
> Thanks for asking! I was going to talk about this in maybe three chapters, but since it's causing some confusion now, I'll clarify a bit.
> 
> There isn't SUPER clear canon about this, as far as I can tell. The wiki says something, but that's one person's impression of stuff that I've also looked at, and I read it in a slightly different way. The impression that I am operating under, which is my opinion and no one else's (unless they agree with me) is that mages are certainly allowed to get married! Just the same as they're allowed to live outside the Circle! All they have to do is get permission from the Chantry!
> 
> When Evelyn says "mages can't get married" she means it in the same way that I mean when I say a dog can't play basketball, and the dog experiences agony about its lack of basketball playing. But there's no rule that says a dog CAN'T play basketball (okay there is but you know what I mean)!
> 
> So, my question is, do mages feel like marriage is an option for them? Do mages feel they can marry? Do mages actually get married? NO.
> 
> I say no, AND I say it's a terribly painful subject, tied to the idea of having their children and families torn away from them for generations. Do we as players know any mages who have been married? No. The only mage I can think of who was married was the dude who had Shale's control rod, and he was buddies with King Maric and didn't even live in the Circle. He got permission. He is the Air Bud of mage marriage.
> 
> You can see what Wynne has to say about marriage in her dialogue: http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Wynne/Dialogue  
> It does not seem to be a subject she is fond of talking about. It seems extremely painful. So maybe when you ask a mage if they can get married they will say no, because that is their truth, and it is tied to their trauma.
> 
> Now if someone was real hopeful they might think that an important person who saved the world would be able to get permission, and/or maybe even get their lands back. That does not seem to be the case. I wonder why?
> 
> Hope this clears things up. Anyone wanna watch Air Bud?


	39. And That's How

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan’s personal journal:_

 

After the unfortunate scene with the Avvar, I went looking for Cullen.

I found him leaning against the paddock fence, contemplating the horses. My mount was in there too, docile as ever, munching on something a bit away from the others.

I propped myself up next to him, resting my arms on the top rail of the fence.

“Evelyn,” he began, “please let me get you another horse. I just…I _really_ despise that thing.”

“It’s really very sweet if you get to know it,” I said sadly.

“How does it even eat? It doesn’t have lips!”

“It just sort of…well, it does it the same way anything else eats, just…more food falls out. It _does_ have most of a tongue, after all. You can see it if you look closely.”

He winced in disgust. “When I got over here, it was stomping on a huge spider, and now it’s eating the body! I don’t even know if the spider’s dead!”

“That _is_ unusual,” I acknowledged, “but just because the body is twitching does not mean…look, it usually it consumes only rotten meat. And beets.”

He looked at me in that way that makes me feel like I’m being especially crazy. He’d had a rough day, I suppose, and it wasn’t even midday yet.

“All right, fine,” I grumbled. “If you hate it so much, find me something else. I have several criteria.” I began to tick them off on my fingers. “First, I don’t want it to kick or bite me, or buck me off, or scrape me off on a tree. Second, it should be easy to get on and off. Third, it shouldn’t run away if I leave it. Fourth, it should _like_ me.”

“That thing doesn’t like you,” he frowned. “It’s probably just waiting for you to die so it can eat you.”

“Aren’t all pets?” I made some kissing noises with my mouth and the bog unicorn perked up the remainder of its ears and made a sort of wheezing noise. It trotted over and let me pet it on the dry, wrinkled area that used to be its nose, and happily wheezed at me some more.

“All right,” he acknowledged. “Maybe it _does_ like you. But that doesn’t make it less horrible. Maybe more. Could you at _least_ pull the sword out?”

“No. I think its head might fall apart if I did that. The blade adds structural integrity. My father liked horses,” I told him, trying to change the subject. “He was working on a special bloodline. He wanted to breed the perfect horse for when he had a son. Two daughters were both a bit of a disappointment. So nobody ever taught me how to ride.”

He crossed his arms. “Not ever?”

I shrugged. “No. Everyone just started giving me horses when I was with the Inquisition and I just sort of crawled up on them and tried not to bounce off.” I shook my head. “I attempted to get as many different kinds of mounts as I could, but they’re all really difficult to ride. I asked Master Dennet for a book once, but he just looked at me like I was crazy, so I…gave up.”

“That…explains a lot,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, Evelyn. When we get back to Skyhold, will you allow me to teach you how to ride?”

I nodded, and since he seemed to be in a better mood, I decided to broach the real subject, the one that had been in the back of my mind for far too long.

“Cullen,” I took a deep breath. “I want to talk to you about something else. Will you come with me?”

“Always,” he murmured in that way that makes my toes curl.

As we walked to my small cabin, I deliberated on how to tell him properly. I had hoped, irrationally, that something might change, that Leliana might send me a more promising letter, that I would gain some sort of clarity when I discovered what had happened to Ameridan.

I suppose, in a certain way, the answer was there. “A different pair of boots to walk the same path,” Ameridan had said. I hoped what I had to offer would be good enough.

When we entered my quarters, I opened my grimoire and carefully loosened the glue on the inside of the front cover, and removed the letter that I had slipped behind. I opened my box of correspondence, popped open the secret compartment on the bottom, and pulled out another small parcel of letters, the ones I’d wanted to show him before.

I handed the first letter to Cullen.

“About five months ago, I wrote to Leliana. I wanted to give her time to settle in before I…well, anyway. You’ll see when you read it.”

I went and sat on the bed, and watched him scan the letter. I saw when he understood, watched his face fall. And then he looked up, and his brown eyes were so sad and—and then he smiled at me.

“You _asked_ ,” he said. “You _do_ want to marry me. You didn’t forget.”

“I didn’t forget,” I sighed. “I tried, and it didn’t work. I know you thought it might but…it didn’t. She won’t do it. Not even for me.”

He sat next to me on the bed. He tried to take my hand, but I shoved the packet of letters into his palm instead.

“What changed?” he asked, looking into my eyes. “You were…”

“Frightened?” I offered. “Terrified? I still am. It’s an old fear, and those do not die very easily, as you might understand. I know that might hurt you to hear, and for that, I am sorry. But fear built on fear built on fear…at some point, it has to end, doesn’t it? I can’t let fear prevent me from doing with what I want with my life.”

He sat very still, and his eyes fixed on me, and just listened.

“So I didn’t stop. I wrote every month,” I continued. “She said no, every time. The last time, she was a bit…abrupt. Maybe angry. Told me to stop pushing.”

He looked me, then down at the packet of letters for a moment, and placed it on the bed. Then he took my hand and kissed me, cradling my jaw in his hand. I leaned into him for a long minute, until he pulled away and stroked my cheek.

 “It doesn’t matter, dearest,” he murmured, giving me a soft smile. “Even just a moment ago, I would never have thought I’d be saying that but… _it doesn’t matter_. What matters is that you tried, and that you want to be with me. That’s all I ever needed.”

“Oh!” I said, rather surprised. “Well, that is good, then. I suppose. I just…wait, so now you _don’t_ want to marry me?”

He looked confused. “Of course I do. But those letters—we _can’t_. And you should…probably stop bothering _the Divine_ , Evelyn. There’s nothing we can do unless we get her permission.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true, you see—” I began.

“Did you read the same letter I did?” he interrupted.

“Of course I did. I read all the letters,” I said. “I read that one four months ago, and I was sad, but by then I had already started to research the alternatives. I worried you wouldn’t like them, so I didn’t say anything.”

“You…researched alternatives,” he said, sounding a bit dazed.

“Of _course_ ,” I said, feeling vaguely offended at having to state the obvious. “You can’t leave something like that up to chance. Alternatives include—oh, I wrote it down, let me find my list.” I untied the stack of letters and pulled out the bottom piece of parchment.

“You made a…list,” he said.

“Well, yes,” I stated, and unfolded the paper. “Here it is. I needed to organize the information.”

“Of…course you did,” he replied.

“Andrastian Chantry—not an option, at least for now,” I began. “Cult, Masked Andraste, and Cults, General—too crazy. No cults. Dalish bonding rituals—we are not elves. Dwarven unions—usually based around castes, which we do not have, and additionally we are not dwarves. Imperial Chantry—rejected, personal and moral objections. Morrigan—daughter of Mythal and _possibly_ priestess of said goddess, if only on a technicality. Again, we are not elves, but I _did_ talk with Mythal personally. She might make an exception for me. Said I was polite. However, location unknown. Qunari Tamrassans—not really marriage, conversion to Qun problematic. So none of _those_ work.”

I raised a finger. “ _But_ —now pay attention, this is the interesting one—”

“It had _better_ not be ‘Varric Tethras,’ Evelyn,” he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “There aren’t many letters left for your list.”

“No, I left this one out of alphabetical order because—oh, you know, I didn’t even _consider_ talking to Varric.” I tapped my finger against my cheek and started thinking. “He has all sorts of connections, and he knows that pirate woman. Did he say she was an admiral? You know, I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t think of naval weddings. I should write that—“

I got up to grab my pen, but he grabbed _me_ , pulled me back down into his lap, and started to kiss me.

“I—stop that—I am trying to tell you about—“ I swatted at him, but he kept trying to plant kisses all over my face and neck.

He fell back on the bed and pulled me with him, wrapping his arms around me and shoving my face in his chest.

“Evelyn, be quiet for a moment and let me love you,” he laughed.

“Fine, fine,” I grumbled, and I lay on him for a while and soaked up some of his warmth. He rubbed my back, and I allowed myself to relax, just a little bit.

Eventually, he spoke. “Evelyn,” he began, “why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Well, I was going to at Skyhold, but then things got…bad.” I took a deep breath. “And before that, it was…I was so _hurt_ , and so angry with Leliana. She wanted us to fix the situation with the mages, get involved in Kirkwall—of all the cursed places in the world, Cullen—and then she wouldn’t do that _one_ thing for me? I give and I give, and what do I get in return?”

My voice cracked, and I buried my face in his chest. “I know it’s not a good excuse, but it was…it was too much emotion, and…I was afraid that since we can’t have a family, not for a long time, maybe not ever, if I didn’t make _this_ work, that you’d—you’d _leave_. Because I had nothing to offer. So I just shut down.”

“Evelyn…”

“After…” I cleared my throat, and looked up. “After I got that first letter, the oddest thing happened. Sky-Watcher came to me and told me he’d been reading the birds, and that the Lady of the Skies intended you and me to be together. He says his goddess approves of me for closing the Breach and healing her skin. Or something. Doesn’t matter.”

“He says the sparrows say now is the most auspicious time.” I smiled down at him. “It did seem appropriate. Also, I think Storvacker has given you her blessing, so that is good as well. And I am tired of waiting, even if I am frightened.”

“Oh,” he blinked. “So some birds and a bear think we should get married.”

“It’s just until we can get an Andrastian ceremony,” I assured him. “All Avvar ceremonies are temporary by nature anyway. And we have to keep it secret. I don’t need anyone accusing me of being a heretic again, and it might make Leliana _really_ angry.”

“But it would stop you from sending her harassing letters,” he rumbled, “which is probably a good thing.”

“I still…I still _want to_ , Cullen. More than _anything_. Even if it’s not quite right. Even if I’m scared.” My vision got a little blurry and I swiped at my eyes. “I just want something for me. For _us_. You, of all people, understand, don’t you?”

“Oh, Evelyn.” He let out an enormous sigh, and I felt his body tense beneath mine. He patted me on the back. “Sit up.”

I rolled off of him and perched on the edge of the bed while Cullen swung his feet onto the floor.

He gave me that heartbreakingly crooked smile, then, and knelt in front of me.

My eyes filled up with tears. For years and years, I’d taught myself control. Emotions were simply not safe. Feelings were not for me, and most of all, _love_ was not for me. But this man—what I feel for him is…too large to contain. It is huge, larger than my past, and it makes me feel absolutely overwhelmed, out of control, and somehow, most of all, _safe_. And it is most assuredly for me. It is _mine_. It is _me_.

“Oh,” I sobbed. “You don’t have to—“

“I love you. Marry me?” He looked up at me, his face full of hope.

“Of course I will,” I choked out.

His face lit up, and he wrapped his arms around my waist and twirled me around the room. We both laughed, and I cried, and he lay me down on the bed and kissed me until I stopped crying.

We were there for a long time, arms around each other, exchanging soft kisses.

In retrospect, this was probably rather odd, as in Cassandra’s novels, the time after a declaration of love and a marriage proposal should be spent locked in a passionate embrace. This moment was much quieter, and not really sexual in nature at all.

I don’t really know _what_ it was, but it was different. It was about…endings and beginnings. Not being completely whole or fixed, but at least being strong enough on my own to be able to carry him when he falters, and knowing that he could and would do the same for me. Forming a partnership, perhaps? Terribly unromantic to say, but it seemed to me to be an excellent reason to get married.

I don’t know, but it was what it was, and it was _perfect_. After a long while, I told him so.

“Cullen,” I said, “this is perfect.”

“Yes,” he rumbled. “Yes, it is. I never thought—“

A small growling noise emerged from between the two of us. I gave my stomach a suspicious look.

“Was that you, or me?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he laughed, “but I’m starving.”

His laugh is as large as he is, these days.

“Me too,” I replied. “Let’s go find some food.”

So we did. We shared a very nice meat pie and a glass of wine, and smiled at each other.

And that’s how he asked me to marry him.


	40. Two Stories I'll Never Tell

_From Varric Tethras’s ~~story~~ personal notes:_

 

The Avvar certainly know how to throw a party, if the kind of party you want has lots of drinking, brawling, feats of strength, hearty voices raised in song, and a place of honor and esteem for storytellers, who are brought drinks and treated with the reverence that they deserve. Maker, Hawke would have _loved_ it.

It was an excellent party, and the Inquisitor seemed to have perked up just fine after her run-in with the kidnapping suitor. She got her special dragon armor all patched up after the fight and was laughing along with the rest of us.

Vivienne can preach all she wants about marriage being about money and alliances, but it certainly doesn’t feel that way when there’s someone you want but can’t have. Then again, the Iron Lady’s a mage too, and the man _she_ loved was married to someone else. I guess you tell yourself what you need to get by.

Hawke would have laughed at the whole thing, but sometimes, she could be cruel. Cullen got on her nerves, and seeing him twisted into knots about a mage had amused her to no end. I feel like an idiot for never telling Hawke about Bianca when now half of Skyhold knows. Hawke must have guessed at some point, but I suppose we had an unspoken agreement to not talk about our love lives because they were such a blasted mess.

And it should have been a great party, but by the time it was finished, I ended up with one story I can tell and two more that I absolutely _can’t_. Which puts my total of “stories I can’t tell” at three now, although like I said, everyone knows about Bianca now. So maybe it’s still two.

Still, that’s too many for a professional storyteller.

So it was a big raucous party and I spent the better part of it standing around next to the dragon skull—which thankfully, the augur or someone had frozen so it wasn’t stinking terribly after a couple of days—and told the epic tale of how Inquisitor First-Thaw and her band of attractive companions defeated the god Hakkon, bound in the body of a dragon.

Some brave soul had dug Cullen’s mangled shield out of the dragon’s gullet and propped it up by the monster’s head. The Commander himself had not made much of an appearance that evening, so when I saw him walking by the edge of the crowd, I had to pull him in for at least one round of ale and stories.

“Commander,” I cried, “come regale these warriors with the tale of your triumph over the dragon!”

He shook his head, but a dozen hands grabbed him and passed him through the crowd, spitting him out in front of me. The unruly crowd roared its approval as he approached me.

“Varric, I have somewhere I need to be. Urgently,” Cullen muttered out of the side of his mouth.

“Tell us how you lost the shield, lowlander!” a member of the drunken mob yelled.

“Tell the story, and they’ll let you go,” I muttered out of the other side of my mouth.

He sighed. “Fine.”

“So while we were fighting the dragon—“ he began.

“The heroes were locked in battle against the mighty High Dragon, possessed by the icy spirit of Hakkon Wintersbreath,” I translated. “The air was as cold as comfort from a dead lover.”

Cullen narrowed his eyes at me and continued.

“The dragon struck the Inquisitor with its foreleg and knocked her across the ice, leaving her vulnerable to attack.”

“The Inquisitor and the Commander were beneath the belly of the beast, slicing at its legs in a valiant attempt to incapacitate it. Two lovers back-to-back, one with a blade of steel, the other with a blade of magic. But then!” I paused dramatically and the crowd was silent. Excellent audience, the Avvar. “A mighty blow! The creature struck the Inquisitor and sent her flying across the frozen surface of Cloud Cap Lake. She slid, and then lay still. _Too still_.”

The crowd gasped.

“Are you sure you even need me here?” Cullen hissed.

“Definitely,” I replied. “The hero in the flesh? Much better.”

“The dragon lunged at the Inquisitor,” he continued, “but I managed to get between them and got my shield up. The dragon tried to eat me, but instead I crammed my shield into its mouth. It pulled the shield away and tried to swallow it.”

“The—“ I began, but was rudely interrupted.

“The dragon,” Cullen continued pointedly, “was distracted by a piece of steel lodged in its throat, giving my loyal companion here the opportunity to weaken it with a flurry of crossbow bolts. He dove forward, bravely leaving himself open to attack, and leveled his crossbow. A moment’s concentration, just a heartbeat to aim and—a perfect shot, right in its eye. It did not kill the beast, but it was the opening I needed. For a split second, its huge head hit the ground.”

“Well,” I modestly preened. “That part was pretty exciting.”

Cullen lowered his voice dramatically, and the crowd leaned in. The man can tell a reasonable story if he sets his mind to it. “What could I do? My noble friends had sacrificed everything to leave this opening for me. So I leaped on top of its head and plunged my blade into its wounded eye, and the creature went down, writhing and twisting.”

The Avvar audience burst into cheers, but Cullen held up a hand, and they immediately fell silent.

“And I could never have done it without the assistance of this loyal dwarf,” he added, his voice now suspiciously flat, “who I’m sure would be _happy_ to answer any questions you have. Good evening.”

The Avvar let forth a mighty cheer and hoisted their tankards in celebration. They gathered around the dragon skull and shield to ooh and ahh, which gave me the opportunity to grab Cullen’s sleeve as he tried to slip away.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” I asked. “I know you can tell an even better story than that, and believe me, these people will be happy to hear it multiple times.”

“I have to leave.” He tugged his shirt out of my grasp. “It’s personal.”

“Where are you going looking and—“ I sniffed—“smelling so good this evening?” He’d shaved, and polished himself up. I think he was actually wearing some sort of cologne.

“None of your business,” he snapped, and stalked off. So of course I had to know what he was up to because I’d been drinking, and I’m nosy.

I gave him a few minutes’ head start, then followed him up the path he’d taken. There were only a few huts up that way, and one of them was the augur’s. Interestingly enough, the augur himself was stationed at the smaller path leading up to his house.

I sidled up to the augur and put on my most charming of smiles.

“Have you seen the Commander?” I asked.

“You know very well that I have, dwarf,” he replied, his eyes stoic but also kind of crazy. People who can see spirits get that way after a while. “He is dealing with a personal matter in my home. It is for the gods to know, and not you. Go about your business.”

“Oh, well, in that case, of course!” I exclaimed, and wandered off to find another way to get up to the hut.

I found it pretty quickly, but I wasn’t going to be able to climb the six feet necessary, so I went in search for help.

The first person I saw wasn’t ideal, but she would have to do.

Cassandra was having drinks with a number of tough-looking Avvar woman, including Thane Svarah Sun-Hair. I caught the Seeker’s eye and motioned her over to me, and even though she scowled, she still made her excuses to the ladies and walked over.

“I was having a very nice time without you, Varric,” she snapped. “What is it?”

I didn’t have much time to spin a really good lie, so I went with the truth. “I need your help. I want you to boost me up on a roof so I can snoop on the Commander. Please,” I wheedled.

She rolled her eyes at me. “Really, Varric? That’s pathetic, even for you. Leave the man alone.”

“I would, but…” I sighed, “whatever it is, I think it’s going to be _very_ romantic.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, and five minutes later, we’d both somehow climbed up on the roof of a thatched hut, almost fallen through, flung ourselves at a rock ledge, almost slipped off, shimmied along a narrow outcropping I’d thought looked like a path from below but was really just…a narrow outcropping that used to be a path, almost fell again, and finally ended up outside the rear of the augur’s hut.

At least we’d be able to get back easily—we’d just walk around the hut and then back down the path like sane people. I leaned against the wall of the hut to catch my breath.

I looked at Cassandra, and Cassandra looked at me, and maybe it was just the ale and the festivities, but we both turned red and almost exploded from suppressed laughter. I slid down the wall, my chest heaving and my eyes watering, and tried my utmost to not allow even a snicker to escape my mouth. I was not as successful as I would have liked, but I don’t think the sound echoed through the thick wood-and-plaster walls of the hut.

My ears perked up, and we both stopped almost-laughing when we heard the sound of someone speaking inside of the hut. Reciting, more like.

_Maker, my enemies are abundant._

_Many are those who rise up against me._

_But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,_

_Should they set themselves against me._

We both immediately peered in the window. The Inquisitor and Cullen were kneeling next to the augur’s firepit, facing each other. Sky-Watcher stood by the open door, staring out and up at the twilight sky.

Evelyn had something in her hands, and she handed it to Cullen. It was a coiled-up length of rope, with maybe a dozen knots tied along its length. They looked at each other for a long moment, and then she closed her eyes and began to pray again.

_In the long hours of the night_

_When hope has abandoned me,_

_I will see the stars and know_

_Your Light remains._

 Cassandra and I looked each other while Cullen slowly unwound the rope.

“Andraste’s ass,” I whispered to her, “they’re getting married.”

“Silence, dwarf,” Cassandra whispered back and slapped at me ineffectually. “You’ll ruin it.”

_You have walked beside me_

_Down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh._

_You have stood with me when all others_

_Have forsaken me._

Cullen ran his hands down the rope, his fingers caressing each individual knot.

 He looked her with such love and longing that I _may_ have begun to regret some of the teasing about puppy-dog eyes I _may_ have inflicted on him a time or two or _maybe slightly_ more often than that.

I also started thinking that _maybe_ this _was_ actually extremely personal, and maybe we should leave them in peace for once. Except I didn’t know how we were going to get down without dislodging a lot of loose rock and gravel as we somehow slid down the sheer rock face. Or created an enormous crash as we flung ourselves through a roof, probably.

The fire popped and Cullen looked up in our direction, one knot half-untied.

Cassandra and I immediately flattened our backs to the wall of the hut. I held my breath. Evelyn kept talking.

He was certainly taking his sweet time, but I wasn’t in any position to criticize at that moment. Besides, the Canticle of Trials is pretty long, which I bet is why she chose it in the first place.

_I have faced armies_

_With You as my shield,_

_And though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing_

_Can break me except Your absence._

 The Inquisitor’s voice wobbled a little bit on that last one, but she continued.

I might have gotten a little misty. All right, first of all, I’m certainly not the first person in the world who’s noticed that the Canticle of Trials can be romantic in the right, slightly sacrilegious circumstances.

Second of all, you don’t adventure with someone for much time at all before modesty vanishes and you’re happy to have anyone bandage you up. So I know that Evelyn’s covered in all sorts of scars, some of them old, some of them new, and all of them pretty nasty. One set is even kind of weird but I haven’t figured out the right way to ask her about those yet (by which I mean I’ve asked her and she wouldn’t tell me).

So when I say that I got “misty,” I mean that I looked over at Cassandra and she had tears streaming down her face.

I rummaged around in my jacket and pulled out a cloth I use to polish Bianca and passed it to Cassandra. She dabbed at her cheeks and thankfully didn’t comment on the oil.

“Keep it,” I whispered.

_When I have lost all else—_

There was a loud pop and a familiar crackling noise. I hate that noise, the one that happens whenever she uses the Anchor to close a rift. The windows lit up with a sickly green light, and in the half-second it took for me to process the sound, the Inquisitor started to scream.

 Cassandra and I sprinted around the hut. Bianca was out and in my hands when we burst through the door. I skidded to a halt when I saw what was happening, and Cassandra barreled into my back, nearly knocking me over. A second or two later, the augur came running into the hut as well.

The Inquisitor was still kneeling in front of Cullen. Sky-Watcher was standing behind her, gripping her shoulders to keep her from falling over. She was tense and somehow…was she fighting against her own body?

“By the Maker,” Cassandra gasped. “What is happening?”

Magic that looked like green lightning sizzled up and down her forearm. She had her right hand wrapped around her left wrist, holding the hand with the Anchor like it was no longer part of her.

A long time ago, she’d told me that every time she used the Anchor, it was painful. She’d only mentioned it the once, though, and to my lasting shame, I’d never brought it up again. She’d seemed so strong, in control, and always, always calm.

But now her breath hissed through her teeth and sweat dripped down her face, and I wondered how bad it had been. It was definitely getting worse.

Cullen had reached forward and grabbed her shoulders too, his eyes fixed on the Anchor. He looked up when we entered, and shot us a nasty glare.

“Varric, Cassandra!” he barked. “What’s going on? Has this happened before?”

The light shining up from her hand cast shadows on his face, ageing him back into someone I’d nearly forgotten. His face was creased and haggard, his expression…hard. He looked like the man I remembered from Kirkwall. Who, by the way, was not a man I missed at all. Kind of a prick, really.

“Answer me!” he snarled.

“No, I—“ I began.

“It’s fading,” Evelyn gasped. “Just—“

She took a very deep, deliberate breath, and exhaled slowly. The light from the Anchor pulsed for a moment and then—it was back to normal.

The Inquisitor swayed, and Cullen grabbed her and wrapped his arms around her. He whispered something against her temple, then glared up at us.

“I swear to the Maker, if you knew about this and didn’t tell me, I’ll kill you both,” he hissed.

I took a step back and held out my hands, looking at Cassandra with alarm. “We didn’t—“

Evelyn shook her head against his shoulder, and patted his arm. “Stop threatening to kill your friends and take me somewhere I can rest,” she murmured.

He winced at her gentle admonishment, then slid one arm under her legs and wrapped the other around her back. He stood and lifted her up, then glanced at Sky-Watcher and the augur.

“Where can I take her?” he demanded.

“Use my quarters,” Sky-Watcher intoned. “They are close by, and I will not use them this evening.”

Cullen gave him a brusque nod, then glared at us again. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but if you tell anyone about this—“

Evelyn let out a pitiful cough, and Cullen strode out the door with her, gifting us with one final stare. She glanced at me as he stalked by, and gave me a surreptitious roll of her eyes. I didn’t know what was going on, but at least for now, she was fine.

Sky-Watcher bent down and picked up the rope. He cut off the unknotted portion at the bottom and threw the rest in the fire.

Cassandra sat on the edge of the firepit and put her hands on her knees, her shoulders slouched. “Ruined,” she sighed. “It was so romantic, and now—I just wanted my friend to have something _she_ wanted, for once, even if it was a bad idea.”

Sky-Watcher patted her on the shoulder. “It’s not ruined, lowlander.” He showed her the rope. “They are wed for two years. It is a good beginning, and the signs for that period are auspicious.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That was auspicious? It didn’t even look finished to me. And there was a lot more screaming and death threats than I’m used to.”

“Are your lowlander weddings so different?” He cocked his head. “The bride’s relatives did not attempt to reclaim her, and no blood was shed.”

“But the Anchor,” Cassandra protested. “She was in so much pain.”

The augur frowned. “Inquisitor First-Thaw healed a goddess and killed a god, lowlander. Did you truly think a mortal form could handle that much power for long?”

“Perhaps it is even her fate to become a goddess herself,” Sky-Watcher added. “The Lady of the Skies would be pleased to have such a Daughter. Is she not already the Herald of your Andraste?”

“That’s…not the same,” Cassandra sighed.

Sky-Watcher scratched his head, then shrugged again and stood. “As you say. Perhaps I will go and make sure the situation is clear to them.”

“Just…don’t say anything to Cullen about the Inquisitor becoming a goddess, all right?” I cautioned.

He smiled at me. “Dwarf-friend, our customs may be very different, but I am not an idiot.”

“Oh, well…good,” I said, and he left.

“I will leave you as well,” the augur said. “I hope that you did not damage Thorvald Karlsen’s roof on your way up. He always skimps on the thatching in the spring because he knows someone will be buying him a new one before the year is out.”

When he’d left, I sat down next to Cassandra and sighed. Even in the semi-dark hut, I could see she had a dark smear across her cheek. Oil from the rag I’d given her. We sat there in silence for a long time, until Cassandra eventually spoke.

“This is a secret,” she declared. “You mustn’t tell anyone, Varric.”

“Which part, specifically, are you talking about? The botched marriage or the Inquisitor screaming in agony from that stupid thing on her hand?”

“All of it,” she snapped. “Just…keep your mouth shut.”

“I have no problem keeping secrets, Seeker,” I lied.

Cassandra grabbed my arm. “I’m not an idiot. I mean it, Varric,” she hissed. “The Inquisitor must have asked the Divine for permission to marry, and Leliana said no.”

“Nightingale would never—“ I thought about that evening on our way back to Skyhold, when the Inquisitor had received a letter from the Divine. She’d had another one in her hand, then, one I hadn’t seen, and had seemed very upset at its contents. And then after what Evelyn had said to the Avvar the other day…

“But—how _could_ she? The Inquisitor’s her friend.”

“Do you think the Divine wants her College of Enchanters to sink before it’s even set sail?” she snapped.

“Ugh, stop right there. It gives me a headache when you try to use metaphors, Seeker,” I shot back. “The same headache I get trying to figure out why it matters if _one woman_ gets married. Or why anyone would get married in the first place, for that matter.”

“Don’t be an idiot. I _know_ you see it, Varric,” she urged. “She’s not just one woman! She’s all mages. People will hear, she’ll set an example, and then they’ll start to wonder about mage _children_. What if there are more mages, and they are unregulated, out of control? If the College doesn’t have a clearly set-out way of dealing with maleficarum and abominations...”

“It all falls apart,” I finished for her. “I know. I’m not an idiot. You’re not an idiot. Sky-Watcher’s not an idiot. Evidently there is not a single idiot here tonight. But let me ask _you_ something, though, Seeker—if it had been you…if you were Divine Victoria, would _you_ have done the same thing?”

“I would have given her permission in a heartbeat,” Cassandra frowned, “but I would never have been so naïve as to disband the Circles. Mages who have performed great services for the Chantry have often received greater freedoms—not all of them, but some. I would have made it happen.”

“Still not following you,” I said. “You’d be amazed how hard I’ve tried to keep myself out of mage politics.”

“The Inquisitor and Leliana wanted freedom for all mages, so now they have less personal freedom for themselves. And much more to lose if they fail.” She shook her head. “This was very foolish of the Inquisitor and Cullen to wed outside of the Chantry, in secret. It must have been Cullen’s doing. He _is_ very romantic.”

Romantic _and_ sensitive? Right. I’m learning all sorts of things about the Commander recently. I believe none of them.

“I don’t know, Seeker,” I replied. “The Inquisitor—I think she’s just bone tired of being told what to do and having to listen and smile.”

Cassandra shook her head. “I understand that, but if she makes herself a thorn in Divine Victoria’s side…”

“Shit,” I said. “Leliana wouldn’t—“

I stopped. I’ve never been really sure what Leliana would and wouldn’t do, but in any given situation, it’s best to go with the sneaky-murder outcome and then be pleasantly surprised when it doesn’t turn out that way.

“Yes,” she replied.

“You’re right about one thing, though,” I said, shooting her a glance through the darkness. That oil on her cheek was really bothering me.

“I am… _right_ about something? Tell me—wait, no!” She held up her hand. “I want to savor this moment.”

I rolled my eyes and waited while she savored. Luckily it didn’t take long.

“All right, go ahead,” she nodded.

“It _was_ really romantic, at least for a while. Even I couldn’t have written it any better.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say _that_ ,” she smiled.

“You have something on your face,” I reached over and rubbed at the mark on her cheek with my thumb. “Sorry, there was some oil on that rag I gave you.”

Something…almost happened then, but it didn’t. I don’t really know what would have been because, obviously, it didn’t happen.

She looked at me, and started to move her hand. Maybe she was going to cover my fingers with hers, maybe she was going to put her hand on my face. Maybe she was going to push me away. Maybe…I don’t know.

I don’t know which of these things she was going to do, and I don’t know how I would have responded, either, because she looked down at her hands, and stopped. There was a big black smear of Bianca’s oil across both her palms. She blinked, then fisted her hands and stood up.

“My hands are—” she said. “I should go.” And then she did.

I know metaphors are my stock in trade, but sometimes I hate them, I really do.

So I ended up with two more stories I'll never tell. One because it’s a secret that isn’t mine and could cause even more trouble than I’m willing to risk, and the other…the other because nothing happened. It’s not a story at all.


	41. I Have Loved You So Long

_From Evelyn Trevelyan’s personal journal:_

 

Cullen carried me down the path from the augur’s hut, then paused.

“Put me down and I’ll show you where the hut is,” I offered.

“No,” he snapped. “Left or right?”

“Left,” I sighed.

We walked past a group of Avvar warriors, who cheered and hoisted their drinks at the sight of the heroic Commander hauling a woman around.

“Bastards,” he muttered, but I patted him on the chest and he at least managed to not threaten to kill them, too.

It was cold outside, colder than I’d expected because I was sweating, and I started to shiver. I tucked my left arm against my chest so he couldn’t see it glowing in the darkness. It hurt all the way up to my shoulder and into my neck, the pain similar to a pinched or damaged nerve. 

“It’s just up here on the left, near the edge of the village,” I murmured.

He found the hut in question, kicked the door open, and deposited me very gently on the bed, which was really just a platform with some hides and furs on it. There were more furs folded up at the base of the bed, and he took those and put them on me too. He began to tuck them in around me, which is when I noticed that his hands were shaking.

I rested my fingers lightly on his wrist. Focus on him, rather than myself.

“I am fine,” I lied. “Sit with me.”

He sat down. Then he stood up, paced to the other side of the small hut, and paced back. He stopped in front of me, his arms crossed. I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

“What you are doing is not sitting,” I observed.

“And you should be laying down,” he grumbled. Instead of sitting, he knelt in front of me and tugged off my boots. His expression was still fierce, but his hands were gentle even as he frowned at my footwear.

“Arms out,” he commanded, and when I complied, he set about removing my armor.

I took deep breaths and tried not to focus on the pain in my hand and forearm, but when he’d stripped me down to my loose tunic, I pulled away.

“I-I’ll be fine,” I said, trying to surreptitiously cradle my arm across my chest. At that moment, I did not want either of us to look at that particular part of my body, as if it doing so would give it the power to ruin things yet again. But it had always had that power, and always would.

Was it wrong to ask a man to dedicate his life to me when I was cursed with such a thing? Probably, but I had been selfish, and allowed myself to construct an idea of the future that was...not grounded in reality.

“Let me see.” Cullen reached forward and captured my wrist between his thumb and forefinger, and pulled it away from my chest. He began to push my sleeve up.

“I wish you wouldn’t—“ I attempted again.

I finally looked down at my hand. The Anchor had spread somehow, reaching tiny glowing tendrils up into my fingers and down past my wrist.

“Oh, Evelyn,” he breathed. "I'm so sorry, dearest."

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. I’d expected him to be more emotional—angry or upset or anything, really, other than…tender. I wanted to focus on _his_ pain, not my own.

I am the Inquisitor. I solve other people's problems. I was supposed to make up a plan, work out a strategy, find a book, consult with an expert. Gather the necessary information to draw some sort of conclusion about the nature of this mark and my ultimate fate. But there were no experts, no books, and no strategy to be found, just this strange green glowing magic intruding itself yet again on the plans I had made for my life and my future.

I had no solution.

“Don’t,” I whispered, trying to pull my hand out of his grasp. “It—it’s vile. I don’t want it touching you.”

“I understand,” he murmured, and released my hand.

I snatched it back.

“For the longest time,” he said, placing his hands on my knees, “I felt like I did not deserve to touch you. That I was…unclean because of my past life, because of how the withdrawal made me feel. Sometimes I still feel that way.”

“I understand if you want to—to go. I—“ I choked on my words, couldn’t continue. It was ruined, all of it.

“Evelyn, I have loved you for _so long_. I thought you’d never want me but then…you did.” He gave me a wry smile. “If there’s one thing that you’ve taught me, it’s that you don’t just cut a knot, you untangle it. Gently. For once, let _me_ help _you_. We’ll solve this problem together.”

He reached out and took my hand, and this time, I let him. He pressed my palm up against his face and closed his eyes when my thumb grazed his lips. The green glow seeped around my fingers and onto his cheek, and he didn’t seem to care.

“You can’t know what your touch means to me,” he sighed. 

“Oh,” I breathed. The pain in my hand eased just a bit, and I felt my shoulders begin to unclench.

“I don’t know why, but the Maker has given me a second chance, and by all that’s holy,  _I am going to take it_. I am yours, for as long as you will have me.” After what had happened, and what might happen in the future, he was still willing to make a vow to me. I felt...unworthy.

“I’m sorry about the wedding,” I began. “I need to show you that…“

“Doesn’t matter.” He smiled against my hand. “You’ve already promised yourself to me in a thousand ways, but I didn’t see them until the phylactery was gone and I actually stopped to think. And when I did, they were all right there.”

“In the future, I will attempt to tell as well as show my affection for you,” I acknowledged. “Perhaps I should—“

“Maker’s breath, woman, for once, please let me take care of you!” he interrupted. “Take me off that list of things you have to fix, and _just lay down_.”

So I let him trundle me up in a rough linen sheet and deposit a few furs on top of me. A part of me still wanted to roll around and cry and scream about the injustice of all of this, but…he looked so pleased with himself that I could not help but feel better. 

I pushed a mound of fur out of my face and frowned at him. “Satisfied now?” 

“Never,” he replied, strolling over to the other side of the room to pick up an errant fur. “Once I’m done covering you up, I’m going to make you drink tea until you pass out.”

“This plan of yours has a flaw.” I shook my head. “I left my bag at the augur’s hut, so I don’t have my herbs.”

“I’m sure I’ll figure something out,” he said, and dumped the last fur on top of my head.

I shoved it off and glared at him. “Maker save me from the men in my life trying to comfort me. You are terrible at this.”

“Maybe.” He put his hands on his hips and surveyed his work with a satisfied smirk. “And maybe you’re smiling.”

Maybe...maybe I was. I was rolling my eyes and considering an appropriate reply when there was a knock at the door.

“Answer it,” I motioned. “It could be important. If it’s not, yell at them and then come back.”

He strode over to the door with a grumble, and yanked it open.

It was Sky-Watcher. “I brought you this,” he said, handing Cullen a short length of rope. “The dwarf informed me that there might be some kind of confusion. You are wed for two years.”

“We…are?” Cullen asked.

“Here are your packs,” Sky-Watcher continued, as if nothing was amiss. “You left them at the augur’s hut.”

Cullen placed our possessions to the side and continued to look at the length of rope, a confused expression on his face.

Sky-Watcher nodded at the rope. “You untied two knots; you are wed for two years. It is a good beginning—I find it is always wise to start with a shorter marriage. If you wish to continue your union after two years, I would be happy to marry you again.”

“Really?” Cullen frowned. “That’s all there is to it?”

“That’s all there is to it,” Sky-Watcher smiled. “Now the challenging part begins—for you. For me, I am going to go and drink and see if Svarah Sun-Hair is interested in sharing her bed with me for the evening, as I have been displaced. Inquisitor First-Thaw, I hope that you are feeling better. The Lady sees your struggle, and I will ask her to lend you her strength. I think that will please her. Remember, the Lady of the Skies smiles on you both.”

“Thank you, Sky-Watcher,” I smiled, and he nodded and left.

Cullen stared down at the rope.

“We are married,” he stated.

“It appears so.” I spread my hands. “I suppose I should have researched the ceremony more thoroughly. I hope this is still the desired outcome?”

“You…are my wife?”

I gave him the largest smile I could muster. A small victory, at least?

He removed his gauntlets and placed them on the packs, then carefully draped the rope on top. He seemed a bit...dazed.

As he moved about, I took the time to formulate what I thought was the most appropriate response, communicated in a way he would find to be useful.

I sat up straight, squared my shoulders. “This is…good news. But I would like to be clear that I want to spend more than two years with you.”

He started to loosen the straps on his breastplate, and looked up at me, his lips quirking to the side. “I think you’ve made that more than clear, Evelyn. I just wasn’t paying attention.”

“You are sure? You were worried that I did not want to spend my life with you. I am capable of very deep emotions, but they manifest themselves in different ways. Thoughts, plans, analysis—“

“Lists,” he interjected. "Andraste save me from those lists."

I couldn’t help but laugh. “One day I will show you the ones I made when I thought I might be in love with you and was unsure how to proceed.”

“Oh, Maker, you’re serious, aren’t you?” He rubbed his face. “I think I found one of those once by accident. It was at the end of another list, one about the reasons to go to Redcliffe.”

“Yes,” I nodded. “Come over here and let me help you with your armor. Back then, I knew what I had to do, but I was also knew it would break whatever fragile thing had grown between us. And either way, that something between us had been impossible all along. It was a very sad list. ”

He approached and sat next to me, and I helped him pull his breastplate over his head. When it was off, he looked at me for a moment.

“A sad list," he stated, and shook his head. "You are sometimes a very strange woman, Evelyn. I love you. My wife, after all.”

He leaned over and pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was long, and so tender it made my chest ache. When it ended, he leaned his forehead against mine.

“I have loved _you_ for so long, too," I murmured. "I did not show up at your door, weeping of my love or—or whatever it was I was supposed to do. I am still not sure of the proper procedure. But I mustered up the courage to tell you that I cared. And you kept the phylactery, and all the pictures I drew you. And you still wear the ring I had Dagna make.”

He bent over to unfasten his greaves. He placed them next to the breastplate and then scooted a bit closer to me. He picked my hand up again and threaded his fingers through mine.

“I knew what those things meant when you did them. I simply didn’t put it all together until your phylactery broke.” A wistful smile from him. “I just…I tend to think about things in more traditional ways, Evelyn.”

“I know this.” I tapped his finger, the one that wore the ring. “My feelings are not showy, but just because they are less visible does not mean they are not there.”

“I am fully aware of that,” he sighed, “and  _you_ are fully aware I just told you to stop trying to fix things. I said it before—once a man starts loving a woman like you, he doesn’t stop. Not ever. So stop worrying about me.”

“Mmm,” I replied. “I will probably stop worrying about you at approximately the same time you stop worrying about me.”

“Speaking of which, how are you feeling?” He looked down at his lap, where our hands were entwined.

“Better,” I said, a bit surprised that it was the truth. “My hand still aches, and I am still frightened, but…I will return to Skyhold, and get back to work. You will be there. We will be together. It will be good.”

He nodded, and kissed me again, his mouth soft against mine.

Perhaps Ameridan was right. Perhaps this world really will take everything from me, but I fully intend to take everything I can from it, first.

“You are…” I cleared my throat, “you are my husband."

I admit, voicing those words felt uncomfortable and strange, but I needed to say them. 

I said those words because they were a secret, and because I did not know when I'd have the next opportunity to say them aloud. And because those words would make him happy, and...because they were the truth.

“Yes, I am,” he smirked, and puffed up in that smug, pleased way he has. “I have it on great authority that is the way these things generally go.”

I wanted desperately to poke him in the side, but instead, I decided to let him have the last word, for once. Besides, I was exhausted.

Cullen bustled about, making me a cup of tea, helping me undress, and tucking me into bed. By the time he’d banked the fire and attended to everything else, I was warm and drifting off to sleep.

Finally, he crawled under the covers. He planted a dozen kisses all over my neck and face, and then gathered me up in his arms.

“Perfect,” he whispered into my hair.

I rolled over and looked up at him. His eyes were sleepy and content.

“Even  _I_  would not claim that was perfect,” I sighed. 

“Hush,” he yawned, and closed his eyes. “You’ll ruin it if you talk about it.”

I shifted my weight a bit, looking for a comfortable place for my hand and arm to rest. I eventually settled for draping it over his side, but the pain had woken me up again.

I started to worry. 

“I can hear you thinking,” he murmured.

“I believe that on the night of a wedding it is customary to have...congress? Do you—”

He opened an eye and looked down at me. “Evelyn, I don’t think either of us is in the mood to engage in venery.”

“No, but—“ I blinked back up at him. “What an excellent word!” I exclaimed. 

“I know.” He rubbed his face in my hair and pulled me closer. “I’ve been saving that one up. Go to sleep.”

And so I felt much better.

If I am realistic, the entire time I have known Cullen, my life has been in danger. I will simply add "my own hand" to the list of potential perils and...deal with it. I do not think either one of us will ever become accustomed to the constant threat under which I live. Perhaps one day, though, that list will grow shorter. Imagine a world where people want to kill me _only_ because I am a mage, for example! It sounds positively relaxing.

He ran his hand down my back, and murmured soothing sounds in my ear, and eventually, I slept.

I married him. Whatever comes, whatever we lose, we will have this one thing. Something that is _ours_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow updates. Job stress and tech issues have pushed my updates way back, but I'm still working on things.


	42. The Logistics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hello. Happy new year if it's your new year! Made it through the rough times at work, had a short vacation where I wrote a lot, and here I am, come crawling back with a small offering.
> 
> I have a couple of chapters in various stages of progress right now, so updates are on their way and will be out of the kitchen when they're done. Lots more Evelyn and Cullen and the rest of those dorks. I'm still on tumblr at insideofadoge if you want to come chat at me. Comments and kudos are loved and appreciated, but you know, I'm just real glad that you're all out there sticking with me and wanting to read my stuff.

_From Professor Bram Kenric’s personal journal:_

I opted to not go to the large Avvar gathering. While I am certainly more than aware of the need to celebrate, my tastes run more to a glass of wine and an interesting conversation rather than a crowd of boisterous warriors. If I lack a decent conversational partner, I have found that a book is an acceptable substitute.

I spent the better part of the evening sipping a glass of wine and taking notes on Inquisitor Ameridan’s staff. While it seems a shame that Inquisitor Trevelyan will take an artefact of such historical value into battle, I suppose the stakes that she deals with on a day-to-day basis are slightly higher than that of an academic. I must face the skepticism of my colleagues when I return to Val Royeau; the current Inquisitor might face another dragon or god. I suppose I can’t complain.

As twilight fell, I heard a soft knock on my door. When I opened it, I was surprised to see Harding standing there. Her hair was done up in one of her more incomprehensible braids and she was not wearing her usual gloves and armor.

“Oh, hello,” I stammered. “I didn’t expect this, er…rather, you. You—you did not go to the celebration?”

She shrugged. “Work to do, reports to file. Sometimes it’s easier to get more done when there are less people around. Yourself?”

“I had the same thought, to be honest,” I smiled. “Besides, I am a scholar, not a warrior. The two tend to not mix very well, at least in my experience. One ends up with one’s books on a roof. One’s hat is stolen. That sort of thing.”

“The Inquisitor doesn’t seem to have much of a problem with that, and she’s a scholar,” Harding frowned. “I could lend you a horse, and you could still go. I’m sure the festivities will continue for quite some time. The Avvar seem to be the type to stay up all night drinking.”

“No, thank you,” I shuddered. “It sounds far too boisterous for me.”

She shrugged. “Fair enough.”

She stood in my door way for a moment, shifting her weight from one foot to another. I wondered what might cause such movement, and then I realized—

“Lady Harding! Please come inside!” I could have smacked myself.

She smiled at me, her eyes crinkling up in the corners. “I thought you’d never ask,” she grinned.

“Yes, well, I didn’t expect to see you and I…forgot to ask. Can I offer you some wine? I’m sure I have another glass around here somewhere—“

I turned and started to rummage around on the dresser, when she put her hand on my lower arm.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I just saw your light on, and I thought I’d stop by. We’re going to be leaving for Skyhold soon, and I didn’t know the next time I might be able to find a quiet moment. Can I sit?”

She motioned to a chair, the only one not covered in scrolls and books and rocks and an errant buckle or two, and this time I really did smack myself in the forehead.

“Where are my manners!” I exclaimed. “Of course.” I hurried over to shove some scrolls and writing materials out of her path.

She sat on the chair and tucked her feet under herself, watching me. Always, she watches. I suppose a scout’s eyes don’t miss anything at all.

“Would you—er, would you care for a glass of wine?” I attempted again. It wasn’t until she smiled at me that I realized I was repeating myself.

“Just sit,” she ordered, looking around for another chair. I had not prepared for the logistics of entertaining another person in my quarters this evening. The only clear surface appeared to be my bed, so I perched myself awkwardly on the edge and folded my hands in my lap.

“So…when are you leaving, Lady—uh, _Scout_ Harding?” I asked, as casually as I could, which probably wasn’t very casually at all.

She ignored my question. “My name is Lace,” she declared, and narrowed her eyes at me as if she’d issued a challenge.

“Lace,” I squeaked, “that’s—“

“My mother was a seamstress,” she interjected.

“—very nice,” I finished. “My name is Bram, but…I suppose you probably knew that already. Lace.”

“All right, then, Bram,” she nodded. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Of course! Is it…er…about my book?” I attempted. This was by far the worst conversation in which I have ever engaged, and I work with _academics_. Our yearly departmental meeting yields some truly terrible attempts at discourse.

“No,” she said. Then, to my surprise, she hopped off of the chair, came over and climbed up next to me on the bed.

I felt myself flush at how close she was. She was lovely, and small, and I had absolutely no idea what to do.

“Bram,” she began, “I hate this hat.” And to my shock, she reached up, snatched it off my head, and flung it in the corner.

“My hat!” I exclaimed. “But…I _like_ that hat.”

“I _don’t_ ,” she announced. She pushed herself onto her knees and reached up again with both hands to ruffle my hair. Her face was very close to mine.

I am not a _complete_ idiot when it comes to women. If a woman puts her hands in your hair, and you have not paid her to cut it for you, it means _something_. It means enough that I avoid the risk of any miscommunication by having my hair cut by a barber, just in case.

But this woman in particular was just so very different from what I was used to. I don’t mean because she is dwarven—I had the feeling that logistics like that tended to work themselves out with the proper levels of motivation, and I was feeling very motivated.

I was just that—I’d never met anyone like her before. Scholars and bored noblewomen don’t have the same spark. They are not fast, or keen, or ridiculously capable.

So when she sat next to me on the bed, I must admit that I had very little idea what to do.

That is, I had very little idea what to do until she grabbed two fistfuls of my hair and yanked me down into a kiss. By the time she pulled away from me, not only did I have a better idea of what to do, I was fully convinced of the validity of her previous argument.

“It’s a _terrible_ hat, Lace,” I gasped. “I’ll never wear it again.”

“Excellent,” she replied.

When she pushed me down on the bed, I wrapped my hands around her waist and brought her with me. I see no need to record my activities for the rest of the evening, except to note: the logistics worked out even better than expected, and she has freckles everywhere. I hadn’t expected that.


	43. So Deep That I Will Drown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Inquisitor manages to not fight a bear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a slow chapter, but I wanted to get my momentum going again and this part is done. So here it is!

_From Evelyn Trevelyan’s personal journal:_

The Fade is often not as terrible as some would have us believe. It stands to reason that avoiding demonic possession, especially while dreaming, can be aided by having a passing familiarity with the place that demons originate. Caution must be paramount, of course, but teaching apprentices to fear, dread, and hate the Fade seems rather counterproductive when those are the very emotions that attract demons and place mages in danger.

In my dream, I walk through a familiar forest, not unlike the ones I traveled through on my way to the Conclave. I have come to a place like this many times as I slumber. Sometimes the woods are empty, and sometimes there are spirits here with me. Generally, we leave each other alone, but occasionally, they are curious and might desire to converse. It is rare that they attempt to trick me or are openly antagonistic.

I spent enough time in the Hinterlands to realize that the real world can be just as dangerous as the Fade, if not more so—I have faced more hostility from Fereldan bears than I ever have from the denizens of the Fade.

Speaking of bears—I enter a small clearing, and there at the center is an enormous bear. It relaxes on its side like a big furry mountain and blinks lazily at me.

“Hello, Evelyn,” the bear rumbles. “It’s been a while.”

“Hello, bear,” I reply. I believe this is that same bear I have encountered before in the Fade, going back to even before I was sent to the Circle. As always, however, one must be cautious, because one never knows if a friend will turn out to be a foe or an imposter.

I have remained cautious around it, of course, but hearing Solas’s tales of friendly spirits in the Fade was at least a small assurance that I am not the only one who encounters friendly spirits as well as demons. Many mages do, I think, but Templar paranoia has always kept the subject from truly rigorous study. We are taught to avoid spirits, not cultivate our own defenses and be aware of the causes of possession. And besides, nobody wants to be made Tranquil just because they happen to have nightly conversations with a philosophical lizard.

I recline against the remnants of a nearby stump.

“Are you larger than before?” I inquire, squinting up at the bear’s bulk. Even lying on its side, the bear towers over my standing height. “Did you grow?”

“Maybe,” the bear replies. “You have changed as well. Maybe _you_ grew, and I stayed the same size.”

“That makes no sense,” I point out, “unless you are implying that you will always maintain a consistent bear-to-Evelyn size ratio. I suppose you did feel very large indeed when I first met you. Like a mountain.”

“That was back when you wanted to lay on my back and scratch me with your toes, instead of talking about size ratios,” the bear rumbles.

“True,” I acknowledge. “I was confident because I had not yet learned that you might hurt me. Similarly, I have read that newborn babies naturally take to swimming. Perhaps this is because they have not yet learned that they might drown?”

“And if they never learn?”

“Ignorance does not convey immunity, bear.”

I recline my head back and look up, admiring the little points of light sprinkled across the sky. Stars are a new development in the forest, or at least I have never noticed them before.

“I got married today,” I say.

“I know,” the bear grunts.

I look over in surprise, and the bear shifts its weight in a gesture that might approximate a shrug.

“It was noticed. That thing on your hand arouses curiosity,” it rumbles, “and the Lady of the Skies’ messengers are a flock of gossips by their very nature. I don’t know why she bothers with servants. Nothing but trouble.”

“If _you_ had servants, then you wouldn’t have to go looking for little girls to scratch you.” I smile over at the bear, opting to ignore the disconcerting fact that Sky Watcher’s goddess had evidently sent a representative to my wedding.

“Not many children encounter me as early as you did,” the bear muses. “You were a very wise child, in the way of some cubs.”

“And now?”

“Mmm. That thing on your hand—tell me about it,” the bear says. The abrupt change of topic gives me the feeling I am being tested.

I look down at my palm. The green glow has crept up onto my wrist, just as it has in the real world. It is less sharp now, but the entire thing still throbs with pain and power.

“I think…I think this magic on my hand has been called many things: mark, key, needle, Anchor. I am afraid that the last one is the most appropriate of all,” I sigh. “This thing, this ‘Anchor’—it is so _heavy_. It is a weight I was never meant to bear, and I feel it…pulling me down.”

“And?” the bear prompts.

I lean my head back against the log again and look up at the sky. This place is so peaceful and distant from my real life that the truth somehow just slips out.

“And I think that one day, it will pull me down so deep that I will drown.”

There are the words. I said them, and now I write them. Now it is real.

For me, death has always been something that threatened to come suddenly. Those spiders the first time I was in the Fade, Corypheus at Haven, Adamant, the Breach: death was so close each time, but despite my expectations, my acceptance even, it somehow never came.

Perhaps the universe has somehow realized that it cannot kill me quickly, so instead, my salvation and my strength will also prove to be my undoing. Not exactly an uncommon fate for a mage, if I am honest.

But I do not want to die. Not now, at any rate.

It seems a divine injustice that I’ve found _someone_ in all this madness, someone who will not leave me. Instead, it will be I who leaves. I suppose “divine injustice” should be expected when one begins to kills gods as one’s main hobby, however.

I do not weep, although I know I will later. Here, it simply is what it is, and I know I will continue to do what I must. The stars shine very brightly, the world is larger and stranger and more beautiful than I could ever have imagined, and for now, I am at peace. For now.

They say once you stop struggling, drowning is one of the most peaceful ways to die.

The bear rolls its head to the side and fixes its yellow gaze on me.

“You’ve gained the notice of the Lady of the Skies and Hakkon Wintersbreath. With power you possess, you could become a god,” the bear suggests. “You don’t _have_ to die.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snap. “Everyone has to die. Otherwise the world would become overpopulated.”

“Now _you’re_ being ridiculous,” the bear shoots back. “You’ve known who I am for ages, and you know what I can do for you. The time has come.”

“I’m not going to challenge you, bear. We both know you can’t give me what I want.” I cross my arms across my chest and frown. “Can’t a mage and a bear sit together in the woods for a few minutes without a fight breaking out?”

The bear rumbles a sound at me that might be an ursine chuckle. “Evidently not. Well, if that’s settled, then I have a wedding present for you.”

“What do I need to do to earn this ‘present?’” I inquire, raising an eyebrow. “We both know you can’t just _give_ me things.”

“Nothing dangerous.” The bear stretches and yawns. “One of the servants of the Lady of the Skies has been injured nearby. Bring me the messenger so it can be healed.”

“Is that all you need?” It’s never _that_ easy. “Is there a trick to this?”

“No trick. If you do not want the present, you do not have to accept it. Such is the nature of my gifts. There is one other thing you will need to do, but I will tell you about it when you return.”

“No,” I shake my head. “I’ve learned my lesson: I’m not running errands if you’re not going to tell me everything you want, all at once. I’ve spent too much time going back-and-forth for people who could just as easily have given me a complete list of all tasks they needed accomplished and all items they needed fetched.”

“Oh ho! Why do you think I want to upset the natural order of things, little mage?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense; that is why. Could I obtain this second thing for you while I am rescuing this messenger?”

“I suppose it _is_ on the way,” the bear rumbles. “Or I could just eat you and find someone else to do it.”

“And have to find another willing party to run your errand? That sounds terribly inefficient. I am already here, so just tell me what you want, and I will plan the best path.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you.” The bear gives a languid wave of its paw in my direction. “Fine, fine. The spirit you seek is on the other side of these woods, by a lake. In the center of the lake is an island with a large tree. On the tree is some fruit. Pick one piece, no more, and return with the messenger and the fruit.”

“Is this tree dangerous?” I inquire, pushing myself to my feet and preparing to depart.

“No more than anywhere else in the Fade, Evelyn. Try not to get lost. Finding another willing party to do this _would_ be terribly inefficient.” The bear rolls onto its belly and closes its eyes. I am obviously dismissed.

I look up, considering the best way to navigate to the lake. “I suppose I cannot depend upon these stars to hold their position,” I muse aloud.

“You see those stars, hmm?” The bear opens an eye. “Ignore them. They will not take you where you need to go—at least, not now.”

The bear closes its eyes again, and the conversation is most definitely over.


	44. As If I Have Two Hearts

_From Inquisitor Trevelyan’s personal journal:_

 

All my life, I’ve thought about existence in terms of the “real” world and the Fade, worlds in opposition, separated eternally by the Veil. Physical existence in both locales has led me to reevaluate my assumption that one is “real” and the other "unreal." Additionally, the Veil that separates the two worlds does not seem so eternal, and is even more fragile than I’d imagined. I suppose that is why it is “The Veil” and not “The Wall.”

Tonight, as I dream, something else about my understanding of the Fade is altered, although I cannot encapsulate the changes in mere words. Everything is sharper, at least, and when I move, I am more…grounded. I no longer feel like an interloper or an outsider in a strange land.

The Anchor has changed me, I realize. It is not just pulling me down. It also holds me stable in this place, motionless enough so I can finally _see_.

Of course, I can _see_ , but I have no idea what "seeing" means, or what it is I am looking at. I need access to Skyhold’s library, and time to fully research these changes to truly know what is happening. In the meantime, I choose to focus on the present. Highly preferable to the events of recent past.

After an indeterminate amount of time walking through the woods, I reach the edge. I see the lake just beyond, and in that moment, something stirs, and I am pulled—

I rolled over. Cullen was lying flat on his back, breathing through his nose, nearly hyperventilating. I moved closer and placed my hand on his chest.

“Shh,” I said. “You’re dreaming.”

He did not awaken, but his breathing stilled and became deeper. I lay next to him for a while, watching his chest and keeping my hand over his heart. Eventually, he flopped onto his side with a snort. His muscles relaxed, and he slung and arm and a leg over me, indicating the nightmare had passed, and he was experiencing a deep slumber again.

After a few minutes, I felt sleep pulling me under too, and I thought of that forest by the lake. Normally I have little control over where my dreams send me, but this time, I saw the memory as a piece of bright light, something I could reach if I only extended my mind and grasped onto it. So as I drifted away, I grabbed the light and pulled on its fibers, tugging myself—

Back. I have little real idea of what I have just done, but it does appear to have worked.

I stand on the edge of a half-rotted dock, on the shore of a clear blue lake. The weather is perfect, especially for late summer. The cool wind drifts across the surface of the water, blowing wisps of my hair skyward. For a moment, the entire world is blessedly, peacefully silent.

So it is to be this place again, where it all ended and it all began: a nameless lake in the Free Marches. I am starting to dislike this place.

It is not entirely the same as when we made camp after fleeing the Circle, of course. For one thing, those odd stars still shine in the sky despite the high sun, and an island has appeared in the middle of the lake. At the center of the island, an improbably large tree grows. Its branches reach so high that they disappear into the clouds.

I must travel there, but not yet.

I glance to the left, and there on the beach, I see a small fluttering movement. I pick my way off the dock and move along the shoreline, squinting to discern the origin of the motion.

Maker, I pray, _please_ don’t let it be _that_ memory again, the one of the abandoned duckling _._  For a brief second, I am completely overwhelmed by an undisciplined swirl of pain. I tell myself that I am in a heightened emotional state after the events of the day, brought on by this unpleasant fragment of the past. Now is not the time to think; now is the time to _move_. I take all those feelings, roll them up, and shove them into the back of my mind like an unwanted bedroll in a closet. 

As I draw closer to the edge of the beach, I see there is a bird scrabbling about in the pebbles, but not the one I'd feared. It is a little black-and-white thing with a long, forked tail, built to travel long distances. I used to see these creatures flying past the windows of the Circle, but I do not know what they are called. Its wing is splayed out at an odd angle, and it looks up at me with frantic eyes.

“Greetings, bird,” I say.

I admit: I’m relieved it’s not the orphaned duck. That really would have been too much.

I feel its small voice tickle at the edge of my mind, so light it is nearly imperceptible, like the touch of a feather on the back of my hand. I sense the bird is trying to be brave.

“Leave me alone,” the bird hisses and tries to inch away from me. “The fox couldn’t take me, and neither will you. I will find a way, you will see.”

“Peace, spirit.” I spread my hands. “I am not here to harm you.”

The bird ceases its struggling and fixes one beady eye on me, weighing my words.

“I _know_ you, Dreamer. Before the others left me, we saw you. The Lady sent us all together as witnesses. I must return, but now I cannot.”

Trying to make myself a bit less threatening, I sit down on the beach next to the bird.

“Why are you here by yourself, bird?” I inquire.

“We stopped by the lake to rest. The fox came, and I was fast but not fast enough. And the others…”

The bird stops, and begins to shake. Something about this creature feels _wrong_ , and not just because of the injury to its wing. Of course, it does not truly have a wing, and the wing is not truly broken, so perhaps this is how my limited mind manifests the problem.

I look closer at _it_ , not the shape my mind has formed for the spirit, but at its true form. Hard to explain how I do it, or what I perceive. Light in weight, but with a solid core of determination and a stubborn devotion to purpose. At the center of that core, a hairline fracture: something is wrong with this creature on a very deep level. Heat shimmers from the crack, distorting the bird’s surrounding essence in a strange way.

“They left me. My flock is gone, and the Lady will not come for me. I do not know if I can find a way.”

Its voice is a hiss, skittering across my mind like a drop of water on hot steel. Despair, fear, and anger war with a stubborn desire to keep going. At its heart, the bird has a single-minded focus on accomplishing its goal, but that focus wavers because of the injury.

I am very, _very_ surprised to find it in such a state. Of course unchecked loneliness, pain, and desperation make mages vulnerable to demonic possession; I did not think I would ever encounter an actual _spirit_ in the throes of a similar emotional conflict, vulnerable to becoming a demon. Foolishly, I assumed denizens of the Fade just experienced a natural kind of transmutation, but there is obvious no reason that in some cases there might not be a struggle. The change does not always come immediately to mages; sometimes we have enough time to fight against being pulled under.

It feels a bit ridiculous to attempt my interventions on something that is not a person, but I suppose that if I am going to expand my research, I need an initial test case. I begin by telling the bird of my own, similar experience. Advising a bird to begin gardening is absurd, even for me.

“I was once abandoned by my companions as well, bird. At this very lake, in fact,” I offer. “It was…”

I struggle to find the words. I think of the dreams I’ve had of this place, of the pain and anger that has filled the air. I want to share my experience with the bird in a way it can comprehend, so I carefully wind the memories up into a little ball and push them out into the open where the bird can feel them. It tilts its head at me, first one way, and then the other, as if using each clever eye to examine what I have offered.

“They left you, just like me. I see it now. _The sounds it made…alone, alone,”_ the bird mourns along with my memory. “ _He said it could fly, but was he lying? It was so young, not ready yet. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, all right? Yes, Knight-Captain._ They always leave you, don’t they? What did you do then? You were so angry, but I can’t see why you didn’t _change_.”

“I…” I struggle for a moment to interpret the jumble of words and thoughts that have spilled out of the bird. I think about how to explain it to the spirit in a comprehensible fashion. “I kept moving forward. I tried to not be overwhelmed by anger or sadness, because that changes who you are. And I depended on other people when I could. I let them help me.”

“I cannot move forward like you, cannot find a way. My wing is broken, Dreamer. If I were to _change_ —“

“Ah, but if you changed, would you even want to find a way anymore? To fulfill your purpose? You would not be yourself. Why don’t you let _me_ help you, instead?”

The bird eyes me up and down, back and forth. An impression of surprise.

“You’re not a Dreamer, are you? You are…a Healer? Yes, definitely a Healer. Will you Heal my wing, then?”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, bird, but I…cannot heal. Something bad happened to me a long time ago, and I cannot cast that spell properly.”

A quick glance down at my hand, and the bird is there in my mind, slipping through my memories with me, our sleek feathers gliding between blades of tall grass, and then a connection—we push off, a leap towards the sky, and somehow instead of falling, we fly.  The bird understands now.

I, on the other hand, barely understand what has happened. I have to shake my head to come back to myself.

“Why did they pour salt on your back?”

“I—“

A memory even I’ve forgotten, one of a questionable mercy on the part of the Knight-Commander. A cruel way to cleanse a wound, but the injured patient survives a few additional days before the inevitable infection sets in. Particularly useful if additional time is needed to reach a healer. It comes at a cost, however: subjects also suffer terribly.

For a moment, the impartial distance vanishes and the agony returns, leaving me breathless. _I_ suffered terribly. A healer never came, and I still bear the scars from my attempt to heal myself. There is a reason our minds allow us to eventually forget pain, I suppose. Society would not function if we all walked around screaming and crying for the rest of our lives. At least, it wouldn’t function _well_.

The bird evidently does not require an answer to its question.

“Then they hurt you to make you strong, but they never thought to heal you. It takes a long time to heal yourself when you don’t know how. _Scars from when I tried, when I trusted. I won’t try again_. Outside in instead of inside out.” The creature cocks its head at me again, and I try to catch my breath. “We are the same, Healer. Your wing is broken, too.”

“I’m…I’m not sure what that means, exactly,” I stammer, looking down at the Anchor.

“A Healer who cannot heal; not a Dreamer, but still you Dream. You are barely yourself.” The bird tilts its head the other way. “Perhaps we will help each other. What have you planned?”

A “Dreamer?” I am not sure what this means. I have questions, but they can wait for another time.

This is too much. I take all the emotions and all the negative energy that the bird has dredged up and pack it away in my head. It would be optimal if I could secret such things in a place a spirit could not rifle through, although I don’t know anyone who has ever truly been able to accomplish such a feat. Denizens of this place slide through minds and memories as a matter of course. Cole and I have had many conversations about this very issue; I hope one day he is capable of understanding how disturbing it can be, and why it is a problem.

At any rate, the bird feels somehow feels less agitated now that it has a way forward, so I decide to maintain our momentum and set out towards my other goal.

“I must travel to the island to obtain a piece of fruit,” I explain. “When I have accomplished that, I will return to the forest. A bear who lives there has requested that I bring you, and the fruit, to him.”

“A bear?” the bird inquires. “If it is a sloth demon, you should take care, Healer.”

“No,” I assure it, “it is not a demon, exactly, but something else. You will see for yourself when we arrive there. Shall we go?”

Surprise, then a bit of curiosity, but the bird has a new purpose, and desires forward movement more than it wants information.

“If we are to go,” it says, “let us go.”

I pick the creature’s body up as gently as possible. It weighs next to nothing, and shivers in my palm as I carefully fold up its broken wing. I nestle the bird in the inner pocket of my jacket, and it settles down close to my chest.

For a moment, I feel as if I have two hearts.

“I need to find a way to get to the island,” I inform the bird.

“You learned to swim in these waters,” it observes. “ _I tell him it’s so I won’t drown. Will you? He asks anyway. Annoying man. No, Ser, I won’t. Not anymore_.”

“Yes,” I reply, trying to ignore the bird’s continued recitation of my memories. I hope it has not seen enough to bring up something more recent, something I...cannot process right now. “I can swim, but that is not a good option. You are too vulnerable to leave on the beach, and if I take you with me, you would drown.”

Curiosity from the bird.

“You’ve always been afraid you would drown, but you never did. You always found a way. Why is now any different, Healer? Why does the Anchor pull you down?”

“I don’t…it is not useful to talk about this right now,” I snap. The pain is still too raw, and I instinctively push the bird out of my mind. It is futile to attempt to protect one’s thoughts from inhabitants of the Fade, but this time, I feel something protective _snap_ up almost instantly. A barrier? Odd.

“Oh,” the bird exclaims. “You are…hidden. Perhaps you _are_ a Dreamer?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I wave a hand. I can’t think about this right now. I do not need a spirit attempting to find weaknesses in what might prove to be a fragile defense, at least not without further research. As it is, I am content to keep the creature from nosing around in my memories, especially recent ones. “We need to figure out how to find a way to cross to the island. Do you have any useful ideas?”

Reminded of its task, the bird thinks for a moment. Often spirits are not capable of maintaining long-term memories, but I hope the bird might have seen or experienced something that made an impression.

“There is…there is a boat here, on this lake. I see it when I fly over, sometimes. If you walk along the shore, we might be able to find it.”

“Good,” I said, and we head away from the broken dock and my former campsite. I am glad to leave those places and their unpleasant memories behind. Luckily, I have seen no traces of any craft near the dock, so it seems logical to go in the opposite direction.

I walk in silence for some time. The pebbles of the beach end when the lake meets the edge of the forest, and then I pick my way through trees and small bushes.

After a bit of travel—I’d estimate it to be half an hour, but there is no way to really know in the Fade—I feel the bird stir in my pocket.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” comes the fluttering in my mind. “You’re just very quiet. Your mind is…closed off in places, and when I peer through the cracks, it is too bright to see very much.”

“Is that so abnormal? It is necessary for me to keep myself protected in the Fade, bird. I do not wish to draw the attention of demons.” I duck under a branch, trying not to jostle the bird in my pocket. Prying comes so naturally to the creatures of the Fade that I hadn’t even felt the bird trying to poke around in my mind. Something to be aware of.

“There are other ways to protect yourself, but being shut off is a strange way to live. Isn’t it lonely?” it asks.

“It is how most mortals live their lives, bird. We do not cluster together, reading each other’s minds.”

“That’s not it; it's not just your mind,” the bird protests. “The Lady sent us to witness your union, and your heart was open then. Now it is closed. What happened?”

“Perhaps I do not want you nosing around in my head, gathering my secrets to spread all over the Fade.” I am avoiding the answer, but it is not this bird’s business. “Truly, it was not until I met the Avvar that I had any idea how social the spirits can apparently be. You are all a bunch of gossips, as far as I can tell.”

“The Lady’s mountain people are much more comfortable with us,” the bird acknowledges, “but you yourself live with spirits every day. A small one of us rides on your hip, and you travel with two who inhabit forms made of flesh: a spirit of Duty, and one who once was Compassion.”

I recognize the spirit’s description of Cole, and I assume it also is referring to the wisp in my spirit blade, but…

“Duty?”

“I cannot tell you much more. I know it has a physical form, and it has pledged itself to your service.”

“Hm,” I reply. I am interested in learning further about this (and diverting the bird’s attention from other matters), but, through the leaves I see what appears to be the side of some sort of wooden craft.

“I think we’ve found what we are looking for,” I say. I am relieved at a further excuse to change the subject.

The bird pokes its head out of my pocket, the feathers on the top of its head tickling my jaw.

“Is a boat supposed to look like that?” says the bird.

“Probably not. I have serious doubts about its structural integrity.”

The boat is up on the bank. The wood looks dry and in a state of splintery disrepair, and I suspect that being out of the water for extended periods of time damages a vessel and might remove any protective coating that exists. I’ve heard the words “dry rot” before, and the whole thing certainly appears…dry. And rotten. It is falling apart, and I do not think I need to know anything else about boats to discern that whatever is left of this one will not float.

The bird starts to shake again, and I feel its despair.

“What will we do?” it whispers. “I cannot think of how to find a way. If I cannot deliver my messages to the Lady…”

I know it is a spirit, and not a person, but I do feel sorry for the creature in its vulnerable state. I understand what it means to be faced with endless, insurmountable difficulties. Luckily, in this case, I have an idea of how to proceed.

“Calm yourself and allow me a moment to examine the damage,” I say, and place my hands on my hips, surveying the boat.

I expand my senses for a moment, searching for remnants of the craft. Most of its component pieces are still present, if scattered and damaged. The nails are rusty and some have fallen into the grass, but they are nearby, and the wood is splintered but not as degraded as some things I have restored in the past.

I draw my staff and hold it in my hands, loosening my posture and calming my mind. These things—the staff, my body, my concentration—are imaginary, of course, but the movements are still part of my preparation no matter where I am. If the ritual is consistent, then it is easier to reach the desired state.

I push my consciousness down into the very depths of the boat, down to the smallest piece of what made it a boat. I feel the real essence of the craft then, what it was when it once was _itself_ , and as soon as I fix on that idea, I open my mind.

I push the energy _in_ and  _up_ , moving my hands towards the sky, pulling the entire thing back _together_ , back to what it is supposed to be. The tiniest bits knit into small pieces, which join into even larger pieces, and so on. I raise my hands as high as I can, give the whole thing one last pulse of energy, and then…

A whole boat rests on the shore. I place my hands back on my hips and give a satisfied nod.

Of all of the things I can do, this one has always felt the most like true _magic_ : incomprehensible, miraculous, and pure, all at the same time.

“Oh,” the bird exclaims, “you Healed it!”

“That’s not…” I begin, and then shrug, tempted to roll my eyes. Spirits of the Fade have a different relationship with inanimate objects than I do. It seems useless to point out that what I have just done bears no resemblance to the healing methods the Enchanters tried to teach me in the Circle.

I erect a barrier in my mind again. It’s even easier to do the second time, and it feels comfortable and familiar, as if I’ve been practicing the technique for years. At least for the moment, the bird has the sense to not push.

I push the boat into the water, and the trip out to the island is uneventful, although Cassandra would have snatched the oars out of my hands if she’d seen my feeble attempts to row. We are about halfway to our destination when I realize that the boat is facing the wrong way—the pointy bit needs to be behind me. Navigating a watercraft is not something I was given any opportunity to perfect while living most of my adult life imprisoned in a Circle.

My exit back onto land is not the most graceful, either, and I end up soaking my boots while hauling the boat up onto the shore of the island.

The tree stretches above me, vanishing into the clouds. The botanist at the Circle would have scoffed at the size of the root ball necessary to supply nutrients and stability to such a plant, but trees in the Fade probably do not concern themselves with things so mundane as water consumption or ratio of plant matter above and below the soil.

“Do you know anything about this tree?” I ask my companion. It seems like just the sort of place where, if a fruit is picked, a dozen spiders will descend from the branches, or a giant snake will slither down the trunk.

“I know it is a safe place to sleep, and the fruit is plentiful,” the bird replies.

At the very least, the tree is probably sentient and also evil. It might even pelt me with its own fruit. I draw my staff, just in case.

Cautiously approaching the tree, I reach up and pick something that resembles a pear. Nothing happens. I back away slowly. Nothing continues to happen.

I reach the boat, climb in, and push off from the beach. Nothing. I sigh.

“Are you…disappointed?” the bird inquires. “Did you want the tree to try to hurt you? We found a way to get what we needed, and it was not dangerous.”

“I’m not—well, maybe a little.” I can’t help but chuckle at myself as I row away from the positively mundane island. “I suppose I’ve gotten used to living a strange sort of life, haven’t I?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only ever lived my sort of life. It’s never felt strange to me.”

I shake my head at my own foolishness and ferry us both back across the lake. My efforts yield a relatively smooth trip across the water and a small blister on my left palm.

I pull the boat up onto the small stones of the beach and stamp my feet to squish some of the water out of my boots. The blister proves to be of a small size upon further inspection, and I doubt it will have the opportunity to worsen before I awake in the morning, and then it will vanish.

The bird pokes its head out of my jacket and looks down at my palm.

“You should Heal your hand,” the bird observes helpfully.

And in that moment, I almost lose my temper. This dream is no longer an amusing jaunt in the Fade.

Misunderstandings and accidental intrusions are the rule with Fade spirits, and I generally attempt to view these things with equanimity. It seems unfair that we are both so curious about one another, but also so fundamentally different that we will never understand what lies on the other side.

I do have my limits, however.

Once it felt like I had bottomless reserves of tolerance. The Templars and my fellow mages dismissed, forgot, ignored or disregarded my ideas for years. I put up with it then, but now I do not have to.

So for a moment, I am _angry_ with this little thing and its little imaginary-bird brain. I am glad I shut it out. How dare it forget the personal, _important_ memories I had shared with it?

It takes a few seconds for me to note the absurdity of what I am feeling. I shake my head, both at the bird’s absurd statement and my own arrogant response. The anger goes out of me in a rush, and I am left feeling a little stupid. It seems that the Herald of Andraste is so bloody important that she expects all creatures of the land, air, sea, and Fade to attend to her every spoken word.

When did I get so insufferable?

“Little bird, I told you previously that I am incapable of using traditional healing magic,” I sigh. “I can use the Anchor to cast a larger healing spell, but I can’t use it outside of combat. It relies on extended use of my combat clarity and the presence of my regular companions.”

“I know you _said_ that, but I _saw_ you Heal the boat,” the bird explains. “I don’t understand at all why that is different. I thought you’d found a way.”

“It does not work that way for me. You and I do not face the same kind of limitations, and you’ll just have to trust my word as qualified on this matter.”

I feel a bit of sadness from the bird. “I thought I could help you. I suppose I will have to find another way,” it adds, a bit more cheerfully. This creature apparently never gives up.

“Well, you may find another way in the amount of time it will take for me to bring you back to the bear,” I inform the bird, turning my back to the lake and heading off into the forest. Due to the fickle nature of dreams and the Fade, I’m not going to pretend I won’t end up back at that lake, but I hope it does not occur for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being very long, so I've divided it up for easier consumption. The final piece is done; I'll put it up a bit later this week. This chapter was a super slog, so thanks for sticking with me.


	45. Many Don't Get That Choice

The bear is where I left it, head still pillowed on its great monstrous paws, claws still as long as my forearms.

My mind is filled with a sudden burst of shock, and in my jacket, next to my heart, I feel the bird begin to shake.

“That’s not a demon. That is _Sigfrost_ , and we must leave before he wakes up, Healer,” the bird whispers to me. "He'll kill us both."

I’d never been able to determine if the bear was a demon or just a spirit. I’ve entertained the possibility that it was neither, or both, or…something more. An Avvar god fits the bill just as well as anything else. To me, though, it's still just "the bear." The name seems...reductive, somehow.

“It is good of you to watch out for your companion, but she’s suspected who—or at least _what_ —I am for quite some time,” rumbles the bear. It rolls to the side and squints at me. “I see Persistence has nagged you into putting some rudimentary protections on your mind. A useful technique, but it has its drawbacks. Don’t you feel a little…numb?”

Ignoring the bear’s question, I ease the bird out of my pocket and cradle it in my hand. “I see we all have names now. 'Persistence,' is it? I was thinking more along the lines of Obstinacy, but Persistence is better.”

“Probably because you’d rather think of _yourself_ as persistent instead of obstinate. I thought you’d get along well together, even though Persistence sometimes asks uncomfortable questions,” the bear observes.

 “You have encountered Sigfrost before?” the bird whispers. "How is that possible?"

“Many times, and it is possible because she never asked for anything.” The bear yawns and scratches its side. “No respect for how these things are supposed to work, really. But I can be patient. Most people get around to it eventually.”

“I know better than to ask for things from demons or spirits, and since you were something of the sort, it seemed the safest course of action,” I respond. “And besides, _you_ never offered.”

“Not until you told me your sad little story about drowning, at least. You’re correct, of course—if you don’t do something about your hand, it’s going to kill you." The bear hoists head up and waves a dismissive paw in my direction. "Anyway, put the fruit and the bird on the stump, and we’ll talk about what is to be done with them.”

“Don’t leave me here with him,” the bird whispers.

“You told me to bring the bird back so you could heal it,” I observe, keeping the bird in my hand. “What will happen to it?”

“No, I told you to bring the bird back so that it could be healed. Whether or not it actually _is_ healed is up to you,” the bear responds.

“And the fruit?” I prompt, stalling for time while I try to think my way out of the situation.

“Oh, I’m going to eat that,” the bear replies. “I’m hungry. Perhaps I’ll eat the bird, too. Unless you heal it.”

I pull myself up to my full height, square my shoulders, and look back at the bear. I do not draw my weapon, but I am in no mood to be threatened or manipulated.

The situation is my fault, of course. I know it is a bad idea to exchange even simple favors with spirits, and now I have found myself embroiled in a dilemma of my own making. My excuse isn't terrible on the surface--“I was forced to confront the reality of my imminent death during my marriage ceremony" probably counts as extenuating circumstances, but when it comes to making bargains with creatures of the Fade, every excuse generally ends up being a terrible one.

“Evelyn,” the bear intones, “if you are to have any chance in the coming storm, you must take what I have to give you.”

In my head, the creature's voice is gentler than it has been since I was very small. As a little girl, I used to lay on my back and scratch its fur with my toes, and we exchanged stories. That was a long time ago.

I breathe out all negative emotion, forming a core of pure calm and clarity at the center of my mind. I need to see this situation for what it is. My decision should be made unclouded by suspicion of the Fade, my instinctual desire to remain alive, or nostalgia for my childhood.

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?” I do not believe it is in the bear's nature to lie, but deceptions come in many forms.

“Evelyn, this is the last piece. You have worked to heal yourself. Now heal the bird, and let yourself be whole. I know you will not take more from me, so take this. It is the closest thing to a wedding gift that I can give you.”

“It’s not a trick,” the bird interjects. “The tasks Sigfrost sets are often not what they seem, but the rewards are genuine. Some spirits can be trusted. You trust your blade, and Compassion, and—”

“Yes, bird, you went over that before. I fully understand that you do not want to be eaten.” I scrub my free hand across my face and turn to the bear. “What are you offering me, then?”

“There are two things you must know how to do. If you use them both, there’s a chance, a _very_ slim one, that this knowledge will keep you from drowning. All I offer is knowledge. I will give you the knowledge of how to heal the bird, and after you have decided what to do, I will tell you about the stars. Our business will then be at an end. What you do with the information is up to you.”

I look at the bear. My consciousness is here, but my body slumbers in the arms of a man who is now my husband. I think, perhaps, that I owe it to both myself and Cullen to explore possibilities that might keep me alive. The Anchor itself is linked to the Fade, so it seems logical that a potential solution might also originate here.

Currently, I have no inkling of another way that I could save myself, and knowing something, even something forbidden, does not mean that I must use it. I have studied enough of the lore of blood magic to make almost any Templar reach for a brand, but I have never been tempted to utilize it for nefarious purposes.

I once told Cullen that to me, knowledge has always meant freedom.

I want the freedom to spend the rest of my life with him. I want there to be as much of that life as possible.

I don’t want to die. Not now.

“All right, bear,” I nod. “What do I need to know?”

“The first one is simple. You just repair the bird using the same techniques you used to repair the boat.”

I raise an eyebrow. “'Repair?' That is _not_ how—“

“Doesn’t matter,” the bear growls. “Doesn’t matter what you were taught, doesn’t matter what you think ‘alive’ means, doesn’t matter. No past, no present, no future. No emotion. Look at the bird. Look at it, open yourself to it, and _see_ it.”

It can’t hurt, I suppose. I look down at the little thing in my hand. I feel and see…what it _is_ , what it is _supposed to be_. Deep inside, just as I saw before, something is fractured. My mind slices down to the smallest bit of the injury. I can fix this, I think. It is just like the boat. I will just draw the energy—

The magic does not come. Part of me is still closed off, I can feel it. To repair from the inside out, I have to open myself, too. Making myself vulnerable in this way is significantly less threatening when I am contemplating exposing my innermost self in order to reconstruct a bridge or move a very large rock. Rocks do not tend to pry.

I am seized with the overwhelming desire to curl in, to protect that core of _me_ from being seen. If I drop my guard and pull the magic through, who knows what horrors will come with it? I must protect myself from possession, and somehow even more importantly, I must protect myself from _pain_.

Possession, I can withstand. The pain of fear, the pain of loneliness? Down in my guts, the same place where I know fire will burn me, I know that _opening your heart and your mind to others will hurt_. They have to stay closed. _You_ have to stay closed.

“That’s not true,” the bird whispers. “Instinct told you not to open yourself to that man, but the Lady witnessed you pledge your heart to him anyway. Why did you close it again?”

I had to, didn't I? Afterwards, the _pain_ , my hand, everything is ruined and even now I feel it pulling me down, and I can’t breathe--

“Don't be melodramatic. It's tedious. From the beginning, you knew it would hurt if you let him in, but you did it anyway,” the bear observes languidly. “You also know that whatever happens, whatever comes through, you have always been strong enough.”

The bird is right. Instinct tells me that fire will burn me, but I learned to control fire years ago. I am fire.

The bear is right. I have killed gods. I am the sharp edge of a blade.

What am I frightened of that I have not already overcome a thousandfold? Pain? Death? For certain. But I have, indeed, faced these things countless times. I bear the scars from each encounter, and yet I continue on.

This thing on my hand may be the end of me, but that does not mean I have to drown. I take a deep, shuddering breath. My lungs fill because I will them to, and when I exhale, I breathe out my panic, my fear.

And I push my energy _down_ into the depths of what the bird _is_ , then pull _up_ and _out_ , healing all damage in my wake, making things the way they are _supposed_ to be.

I feel a burst of joy in my mind, and the bird extends its wings, whole and undamaged, and launches itself out of my hand into the air. For a moment, we travel again together, the bird and I.

_We found a way_ , our two hearts sing. Strong wings push the ground away, gravity pulls at us but cannot take hold, and we rise, rise through the air, up, up above the trees, fragile feathers and hollow bones made to soar among the stars and swirling currents of air where we _belong_. We catch a warm gust of wind and—

A streak of black and white, and the bird is gone from both my mind and the sky above me.

I look over at the bear after a moment, and raise an eyebrow.

“I suppose it had something urgent to do,” the bear rumbles in response. “Persistence can be very single-minded. It will return eventually.”

“Mmm,” I reply, falling back into myself. “I suppose it’s useful to be periodically reminded that one is only the center of one's own world, not everyone else’s.”

The bear rumbles its amusement. “Speak for yourself. I am _extremely_ important.”

I amble across the clearing and resume my old spot on the ground near the bear, propped up against the stump. I contemplate the small blister on my hand. This new healing technique has worked once, but can I reproduce the results consistently? It will have to wait for later, when I can devote my full attention to the matter. It is difficult to contemplate my hand as merely a _thing_ in need of repair and not a piece of myself.

“The mark was not meant for you, of course,” the bear observes.

“People keep telling me that. I would be perfectly happy to give it back to its proper owner if such a thing might be arranged.”

“It might be possible, but I am not the one to arrange it. I would be _very_ interested in knowing who its proper owner is, as a matter of fact, and you must tell me if you discover their identity. As it is, you know as well as I that the Anchor grows stronger, and it is changing your connection to the Fade.”

“I can feel that,” I acknowledge. “The bird told me I wasn’t a dreamer, but I was dreaming. What does that mean, exactly?”

“You would already know if you were a Dreamer, and I can assure you that you are not. It is very rare these days, although I do believe it is known to your people. However, for some time, since you acquired your mark, you have been manifesting abilities like those of a Dreamer: increased affinity towards the Fade, pulling others into your dreams, that sort of thing. Now you see something that you call ‘stars,’ and this indicates that the Anchor has grown strong enough to allow you to travel to the dreams of others.”

“Really?” I blink.

“It is an approximation. Your mind manifests aspects of the Fade in ways that it can comprehend. Thus, I am a bear, Perseverance is a bird, and the fragments of the Fade inhabited by others are the stars.”

“I’ve always liked you as a bear,” I note. “I don’t know about this ‘Sigfrost’ business.” I reach down and unlace both of my boots, tugging my feet out and planting them on the cool grass. If I’ve somehow managed to sell my soul to this creature, what’s done is done. I might as well enjoy a few moments of peace. After a moment, I take the boots in one hand and the fruit in the other, stand up, and walk over closer to the bear.

I hold the fruit out, and the bear plucks it from my fingers with the ends of two claws. It heaves itself up enough to shove the fruit in its mouth, and lays back down with a great _whumpf_ of air.

While it munches, I lay back on the grass and prop my feet up on the bear's shaggy side. I scratch around in its fur with my toes and look up at the starry sky.

The bear lets out a long sigh. I wonder what it is like to be very, very old and very, very powerful. It might be very, very tiresome to watch the world make the same mistakes over and over.

“You should hire some servants to give you a good scratch,” I observed. “If you are a god, then you can afford it.”

“You mean recruit servants like Persistence?” The bear burps. “It talks too much, just like everyone I encounter. Always seeking me out, demanding answers to the same questions. I usually end up eating them because they are idiots. I like it quiet. You know as well as I how annoying it can be to have people always wanting things from you.”

“Ah,” I reply.

“I’ve never minded you quite as much. You kept your mouth shut and your eyes open, and found your own answers.”

I am silent. I wonder about the answers I found, and the decisions I made. No way to know if they were the best, but I suppose they were certainly mine.

“Besides,” the bear adds, “you had the sense to realize that I might enjoy a good scratch now and then. People insist on imagining me as a bear. In all my years, it has occurred to very few of them that this form might be itchy.”

“Ah,” I repeat, and swipe at my face to keep the tears rolling down my cheeks from running into my ears. “Oh, bear. I’ve faced my end many times. Somehow now, it’s so much worse.”

“As always, I cannot provide an answer to that because it is not a question.”

“It will be meaningless. No goal attained, no world saved. Just…gone. And it isn't a question," I add. "Just...an observation.”

A long pause before the bear replies.

“You’re dying," it rumbles, "but you can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

I sit up a bit and glare down at the creature.

“That’s cheating,” I inform it. “Those aren’t even your words.”

The bear's laugh vibrates deep in my chest. “You get what you pay for, Evelyn. Consider yourself lucky that I was feeling especially itchy today.”

I can’t help but return the laugh, and I put my head back on the ground, gazing up at the not-stars and thinking of Cullen, so resolute at Haven.

And then…he’s close, I know it, just around the corner of my mind. If I turn my head fast enough, or maybe if I squint up at the sky just right, I’m sure that I can see—

\--a flash of red, a horrible ache of fear in all my joints—

I sit up. “He’s having a nightmare,” I frown. “Another one.”

“The power is growing. Already you feel it,” the bear muses, then blinks at me lazily. “It seems I need to tell you less than I’d assumed. Imagine if the Anchor had reached its intended owner…no matter. I will tell you how to travel to the dream of another. You are observant enough to draw your own conclusions on both how useful and how risky this particular action is.”

It is time to go, then. I stand up and lace my feet back into my boots.

“How long have you been this way?” I ask, gazing up at the stars again. “Extremely important, I mean.”

The bear considers for a moment. “Long enough. I’ll explain one day if you are ever capable of understanding.”

I look over at the bear. “I’ll probably be dead,” I point out. “Besides, even if I’m not, your rules say I will never see you again.”

“Indeed,” the bear acknowledges. “However, if you ever reach the level of comprehension necessary, you will no longer be subject to anyone’s rules, including mine. If that happens, we will see each other again. It is how these things work.”

“I would like that,” I smile. “Give my regards to Perseverance if it returns.”

“I will, right before I eat it,” the bear agrees. “It will be back to bother you some day, but it should know better than to disturb me. Enough of that. The process of travel in the Fade is as simple as you allow it to be. Think of _who_ or _what_ you want and hold it in your mind. Find the appropriate node in the sky and _pull_ yourself there. That is all. I am going to sleep now. Don’t be here when I wake up.”

I cannot help but give the bear an affectionate smile. “Farewell, bear.”

The bear grunts in my direction and then rolls over with its back to me. After a minute or two, it starts to snore.

While it drifts off, I compose myself until I am calm, cool, and ready. Reaching out with my mind, I grab hold of the star above my head, the one that I’m certain leads to Cullen’s dream, and pull. I fall into it in a way that feels everything and nothing like slipping beneath the surface of a pool of clear water, all the way until the liquid closes above my head.

And when I go… for a very brief moment, I get the impression of something outside of myself, something as large as a mountain, or maybe it _is_ the mountain, stretching up to the sky, blue-white slopes covered in snow so bright that anything and everything is illuminated in its pure light. Beneath that snow lies something wise and wild and dangerous, something better left undisturbed, vibrating with the repressed rumble of an avalanche. I’ve seen fragments of this before when I was around the bear, enough to make an educated guess that this creature was _different_ than any of the creatures of the Fade I've encountered. It was... _other_. _More._ This time I see enough to know that I’ll never really understand what it is.

As I fall further into Cullen’s dream, I get another flash of the creature, but this time what I sense is familiar, a glimpse not of something huge and unimaginable, but of the tiny bit that was the bear I knew. This fragment feels...old and drowsy, satisfied that our business was at an end, and, oddly enough, vaguely pleased that I had never been stupid enough to try to encompass its vastness with something as pedestrian as a _name_. What a strange final sentiment for something so incredibly ancient. As I’ve grown older, my interactions with the bear have become suffused with a palpable danger. I am content that our business is at an end; nonetheless, a small part of me will miss it, even if it does not miss me.

I will, however, be more than content if I do not encounter that annoying bird again. As the bear said, its personality was a little too close to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chugging along. Going to try to update at least on the weekends from now on, until this is finished. Love you all, obviously


	46. Peas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes discuss the cultivation of proper ground cover.

_From Commander Cullen’s personal journal:_

The Fade is, as always, horrible. I am in a strange, indistinct place. How to describe it—a castle? A dungeon? Hard to tell. Everything in the room throbs a dull red, and my heart throbs along with it. Maker, how do I even write about this? It is all pain, all emotion.

I know this room is supposed to be a safe, but who needs to be safe? Its inhabitant? Everyone else? The door is locked. The contents of a tray lay across the floor. The food uneaten.

A vial smashed beside the tray, floating a good six inches above the stone floor, there and not-there in the way of some dream objects. Every piece licked clean. Fingers clumsier than before—cannot pick up some of the glass. Irritating.

Some of it remains there in the glass, of course. Something always remains. The shards are red—maybe lyrium or maybe blood. Will check later. Everything in this place is red. If it is not, it will be soon.

My mouth tastes like iron. The world smells like blood and red lyrium. Tongue hurts to move. It makes no difference to me, in this room: perhaps it is best if I can no longer speak.

My throat is sore, and for a moment, it is the only pain. Bliss. Then the real agony returns, the way it always does.

_This isn’t real_ , I tell myself, but the pain is too much. How can I even describe it?

Teeth itching joints grinding and burning glass slicing just below the surface of the skin

Razor-footed insects crawling on my back and shoulders and no speaking in this life only screaming

This thing-that-is-me rolls face-down because of the writhing crystalline horror behind me and screams and screams until the room throbs so loud and red that the heartbeat drowns everything out even the screaming but after an eternity the pain ebbs a bit, and I— _it’s still_ me _, this monster that never stops screaming_ —I roll onto my side, and I gasp for air, and I wonder if there is anything left in the vial, in the glass. It is very far away.

_This isn’t real._

Then: I hear someone else breathing in the room. Try to push myself up, angry at the way the sound grates against my ears. Reminds me that I am _me, a monster_ , and I hate it.

A cool hand against the back of my neck. She feels like quiet, then. _I_ feel like quiet.

“Shhh,” she whispers into my ear. “You’re dreaming.”

“Wrong,” I manage to grind out through cracked lips and swollen tongue. It’s all wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be this way; I know this, but I cannot tell her. All I have ever done here is scream, but…

_“This isn’t real.”_

I realize I have finally spoken the words out loud.

I sit up, scrubbing my hand across my face.

She is gone, probably as unreal as anything else is in this place, but I wish she would return and take me away from this horror. As it is, I realize I must attempt to retain control over my dream, so I slowly inch across the floor and prop myself up sideways against the wall, pressing my cheek against the cool stone.

I take deep breaths, pulling air in and pushing it out, until the red has entirely faded from my vision and my heart is no longer pounding against my ribs. I focus on becoming myself again: whole and normal. I close my eyes and picture myself wearing my favorite pair of boots, comfortable pants, and just a loose tunic, my armor no longer necessary to protect me from the onslaughts of the outside world. I walk through the tall grass towards a house in the Fereldan hills. I have imagined this place many times: a sturdy building, made to withstand the elements, set up on a hill to provide a solid line-of-sight on the surrounding landscape. A dog, some horses, and perhaps a goat to get into Evelyn’s garden when she’s not looking.

I keep breathing. This red world is not the life I chose for myself. I am not one of them. I am not a monster. I repeat this to myself, over and over, pushing back against the dream-reality, hoping that I can will myself back to the waking world.

After countless breaths—

“You’re getting better at this,” a voice observes. “But it’s still not enough.”

I open my eyes a crack. Sitting next to me, his back propped up against the wall and his ankles crossed casually, is Samson. I close my eyes again.

“You still look terrible, though,” he adds.

I open my eyes again and glare at him. The same bloodshot eyes, week’s worth of stubble, and soiled clothing of the prisoner who stews beneath Skyhold. No armor, Templar or red lyrium.

“You’re not much better,” I reply.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he smirks, scratching at his beard. “I think the facial hair makes me look rather dashing.”

I turn my face to the wall and attempt to ignore him, but he keeps talking.

“Funny to see _you_ looking like this, of course. Still, secrets have a way of…hmm…bursting out? When you least expect it.” He reaches over and attempts to flick at the crystals growing out of my back, but I flinch back to avoid his touch.

He chuckles, and I catch a flash of teeth that are just a bit too sharp.

“Such a ridiculous plan she has,” he muses. “We both know it’s not going to work. It’s a pity to see you betraying the Templars this way.”

“Samson, of all people, knew that it was the Templar leadership who betrayed us,” I whisper. “I have betrayed no one.”

He shrugs. “Fair enough, I suppose, but I didn’t mean them, I meant you. Can you truly say you’ve fought for your brothers and sisters, the ones you taught, the ones who bled and died at your side to protect Thedas from those mage abominations?”

His appearance shimmers for a minute, and then another man is sitting next to me, blond and (if I am to be honest) rather stupid-looking.

“Like poor Carroll,” he sighs. “What ever happened to him, anyway?”

“You know what happened to Carroll,” I grind out. “You besmirch his memory by taking his form.”

He pretends to think for a while, then snaps his fingers.

“That’s right! The Inquisitor killed him, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” I snap. “And I sent her to do it. The man’s mind was gone, even before he was working for Corypheus. It was a mercy. And now I work to make sure what happened to his mind will never happen again.”

He shakes his head. “Still a shame, though, still a shame. What does she have planned for the rest of the unwanted Templars, do you think? The ones who won’t go along with her little plan, or fade away and become useless like poor Carroll. Will she put them down like mad dogs, too?”

I raise an eyebrow at the demon, which is about all the physical effort I feel capable of currently. “You’re not very good at this, you know.”

“Neither are you, despite all your efforts,” he shrugs. “So you throw your lot in with her, then. What do you know about making her happy? You can barely talk to her. Look at you! You have so many worries, they’re literally bursting out of you. Don’t you deserve to be happy?”

I lean forward too, exuding as much menace as I can into my smile. “No.”

I _do_ have fundamental concerns about what I know of Evelyn’s plan…and I _do_ worry that I can make her happy in the way she deserves, and still hold on to myself and what I believe. I have worried about these things for ages, but most things like that have a way of sorting themselves out when Evelyn is around.

But…his question has struck something deep within me: do I deserve to be happy?

There it is, written out, the Templar’s lament. Rylen essentially asked me the same thing, once. A _fter all the things I’ve done and seen, do I deserve to be happy_?

My thoughts are still a jumble. I know there are things I’ve wanted. I wanted to be truly content within the Templars, but that was taken away from me. I consoled myself with the idea that despite my misery, I was working for a greater good—one I was never able to achieve. When that desire to work for good carried me to the Inquisition, and I met Evelyn, I started to think I could have more, not just for the world, but for myself.

But recently, I’ve been discontent. Maybe a little…surly. I’ve asked her for more. Have I been trying to break things again, to prove that at her heart, _she_ didn’t really think I deserved to be happy?

I look down at my broken, malformed dream-body. This could have been me. It _was_ me. Twisted and misshapen, but with a beating heart still inside. I’m still alive; so many of the others are not. Is that right; is it just?

So many people in this world don’t get what they deserve. Did the Red Templars? Of course not. Nobody deserves that fate; it was a product of the choices they made in their lives and a system twisted after hundreds of years of injustice.

That certainly sounds familiar. I can’t _believe_ I just wrote it down.

_When the Maker gives you a second chance, you take it,_ I told Rylen. She married me, a former Templar.

She knew it was important to me, so she made it happen, the way she always makes things happen when they’re important. A second life, a second chance.

_But what do you do if the Maker takes it back?_

_I don’t know._ I write, searching for clarity, and it helps, but sometimes I still lose my focus, my certainty, especially when she is gone. It’s taken years to arrive at this point, and in the future…Evelyn can’t help me sort this out, not if she’s…

Why is this any different than the night she rode out to face Corypheus? Than all the other times she rode out to face all the other things she’s talked to death or torn to pieces?

A death in the battlefield, I understand. That has meaning. A creeping death, one that consumes you slowly? I was willing to give my life—and I nearly gave my sanity—to save my Templar brothers and sisters from experiencing that fate. _I do not know how to save her_ from that thing on her hand.

And what if she is weakened enough that she—

I cannot.

I focus on taking deep breaths, imagining a place that is not here, waiting to wake up. The Fade is horrible.

“You’ve made so many sacrifices for her,” he sighs. “It’s a shame she’s dying.”

There are not enough deep breaths in the world to keep my anger from spiking.

“I can take these things away, you know.” He waves his hand, and the stone walls waver and are gone. “A place where she is well, and you can heal and serve your brethren.”

I look around. I’m standing beside a respectably sized two-story stone house. There are several outbuildings, including a barn, a stable, and a long building that might serve as quarters for servants or farm hands. We stand in front of a large garden that surrounds the rear of the house, beside an open gate.

It’s a sturdy building, this house, made to withstand the elements, set up on a hill to provide a solid line-of-sight on the surrounding landscape, pulled directly out of my mind and made real. Fade-real, rather, which means it isn’t real at all, but a beautiful, peaceful trap.

It has the appearance of a small, successful farm or estate, normal except for a handful of human-shaped sprits that flit around the garden, acting for all the world like typical workers despite their spectral nature. I recognize some of their faces.

“Just a pretty farm girl you met after you left the Templars,” not-Carroll murmurs. “She nursed you back to health, and now she helps you save other Templars who want to leave. See them there, working in the garden? I could give this to you.”

I cannot deny it is something I’d thought of, this quiet place of peace and purpose, one I sometimes use to escape during the worst dreams. But I see now that at its heart, the temptation is hollow, the core rotten. It’s no good without her.

“What are you _doing_?” a familiar voice echoes across the garden.

I hear a loud rustling from behind me, and turn to see a large goat skid ‘round a corner and sprint down the main path of the garden. It is black-and-white, and holding some kind of half-imagined root vegetable in its mouth, the greens dangling out and trailing away into green smoke.

The demon hisses, and its form shifts to a purple mist, a shapeless cloud that somehow manages to still undulate with lust and hunger and raw, unadulterated _need_. Not a lost friend, or a beautiful woman, just a raw core of desire.

“No,” it snarls, “ _mine_.”

The goat clatters down the path, running for the gate. And the demon starts to move back.

“She doesn’t have to know,” it whispers frantically. “We could share. Don’t you want—”

“You are very well aware,” comes a familiar voice from around a bunch of odd blue sunflowers, “that this is completely unacceptable behavior.”

Evelyn comes bustling around the same corner the goat emerged from. _Of course._ This is what the Fade promises you, how the demons catch you: what if the woman you loved was just a pretty farm girl, and not a powerful mage with a penchant for both danger and making people talk about their feelings? _This could be yours_ , temptation says. A farm on a hill in Ferelden, with a dog, a goat, and some land for a kitchen garden. And her.

Except it wouldn’t be her. I’m not tempted, just irritated.

When she catches sight of us, she freezes. Something about her…shifts…for just a moment, and she staggers a step or two, pressing her hand to her stomach.

She looks down at herself. “What in the world am I wearing?” she demands. “This is completely impractic—“

She looks up, blinks, and then she’s striding towards us again, reaching out and yanking a tall blue plant that might resemble a sunflower out of the ground.

“Absolutely not,” she snaps. The flower twists in her hand and turns into a staff with a blue crystal on one end and a nasty-looking scythe on the other. “No goats _or_ demons in the garden.”

I sensibly distance myself from the upcoming collision of demon, goat, and Evelyn. The cloud sends a few feeble tendrils in my direction, but a second or two later, the goat is nearly upon it, and the desire demon vanishes with an angry screech.

The goat kicks up its heels and dances around me, putting my body between itself and Evelyn.

She rolls her eyes and clicks the garden gate shut as she passes through. I can’t help but notice there is a blue flower growing out of the side of her staff.

Planting her hands on her hips, she stands in front of me, looks me over head-to-toe, and announces, “You look terrible. What in the world is going on here?”

Obviously, this is not what I expected to happen in my dream, and I open and close my mouth like an idiot, trying to figure out what to do next. Faced with her scrutiny, I realize I still have crystals jutting out of the back of my shoulder, although the terrible crawling feeling under my skin has stopped.

 “A nightmare,” I snap. “That blasted creature drug me here. What are you—what’s wrong?”

“Ugh.” She takes a step back and braces her hand against the stone wall. “I feel…terrible.”

She looks pale, and I can see strain in her face. It takes everything I have to ignore my instinct to move forward to support her, but…

“I hate the Fade,” I say. “This isn’t real.”

The goat peeks its head out from behind me.

“You are in a weakened state,” it informs her.

“Maker’s breath,” I swear, and cross my arms across my chest. “This is ridiculous. I don’t know what kind of game you are playing, but I refuse to participate.”

“Good,” she breathes. “Always best to be cautious.”

She slides down until she is sitting sideways, propped up against the wall. She presses her cheek to the stone and takes deep breaths, her hand pressed against her stomach. Both her legs splay out in front of her, and her skirt rides up around her knees to reveal a pair of dirty feet, brown from the sun and Fereldan soil. I stand there, bewildered. I have no idea what is going on.

“You have overextended yourself,” the goat informs her. “It is good that you have found a way, but you are not really a Dreamer.”

Her breathing becomes regular almost immediately, and she removes her hand from her stomach.

“What are you doing here?” she asks the goat. “I thought you were off to…” She waves her hand vaguely.

“I delivered my message,” it says. The goat isn’t actually talking, of course. That would be far too normal. A voice just sort of emanates out of it.

“I saw the other spirit, the one with your guardian, was broken, so I followed. I knew there would be consequences if you came here, and I knew you would be in danger. When he dreams of this place, there is a goat in the garden. I fit easily.”

“Stubborn as a goat. Of course.” She rolls her eyes and looks up at me. “Goats don’t live in gardens.”

“I know that,” I snap. “I grew up on a farm, _Evelyn_. What is—”

She waves her hand at the goat. “Cullen, this is Persistence. You have a lot in common.”

“Do _not_ introduce me to a demon,” I grumble. “For all I know, you’re not even real, and if you are, you definitely shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”

“The broken one is gone,” the goat informs me. “This place is now protected by the Lady of the Skies.”

I glare at them both.

“Oh for the love of—” I bend down and slide an arm under her leg and behind her back, hoisting her up. She tries to put her arm over my neck, but she raps her fingers against the stupid crystal still growing out of my back, and her arm falls back into her lap.

The goat blinks at me. “This does not please you. You wanted this to be a safe place, for you and the Healer, and I have found a way to make it so.”

“The Fade is _not_ safe,” I snap back at it over my shoulder, and head towards the house.

“Neither is your world.” I can feel the goat emit something that feels like…a shrug? It chews philosophically at its spectral radish and follows along behind us. “Guardians are rarely content, but I respect your concerns. I understand them. I will work until you are satisfied.”

I let out a frustrated growl. “Evelyn, would you please just wake us up? This is ridiculous.”

She turns her hand over, there is a flash of green light, and then—

Nothing happens.

“Can’t,” she murmurs, her head falling back a bit against the stone wall. “I need to rest. Can you…?”

“She will recover soon. You will need to keep her safe until then,” the goat informs me as I steady her against my chest. I do not dignify its obvious idiocy with a response. Of course I will keep her safe.

I haul her around the garden wall to the front of the house. The door swings open a bit when I nudge it with my toe, so I give it a hard kick and go inside. The interior of the house is exactly as cozy as I’d imagined, of course, with a large table in front of a kitchen hearth. The table is set for dinner. Everything on it is floating half an inch above the wooden surface, and is upside down. I feel even more irritated.

I carry her to the largest of the upstairs rooms and deposit her on the bed. I begin to feel less irritated, because I have imagined doing this before. Under significantly more romantic circumstances, of course.

Still. _Mine,_ beats my heart, certain it is her.

_My wife._

She opens her eyes and blinks up at me as I tuck a feather blanket around her. “This bed is enormous,” she observes.

“Yes,” I acknowledge. I hate that I might be blushing. Having someone else poke around in your dreams is incredibly personal, I realize. I wonder if this has made Evelyn as uncomfortable as I am currently feeling.

“Stay with me?” she sighs, sounding small and sad.

All the irritation is gone, just like that, and I sit next to her on the bed.

“Always,” I tell her.

She settles herself on her side, facing me, and closes her eyes. I sit by her while she rests, and take deep, cleansing breaths. Strange how I must convince myself that the bad dreams are real, but it is obvious to me that the good ones aren’t. This isn’t real; I didn’t just bring my wife home to this bed, this house, this little farm. It’s just a fantasy.

She turns her head in my direction. “You look better,” she says.

“I feel better,” I say, and it’s true. The terrible, oppressive air of that other place is gone, and I can finally breathe. Sometime since I entered the house, I have turned back into myself, too. Not deformed anymore, and not clothed in what I’d wear on a farm, exactly, but the armor I normally wear. Enough to protect her while she is vulnerable, if necessary.

She looks better, too. Most of her color has come back, and her regular energy seems to have returned. She pushes the blanket off, sitting up and swinging her feet over the side of the bed.

“You _do_ look better than before,” she says, examining my face. “Why did you look like that in your dream? You’re not a monster. I—it’s not because—after this evening, you thought that…being with me is wrong? Or…you don’t want me to touch you?” As the questions tumble out of her, her voice gets even smaller and sadder. She asks the last question so quietly that that everything comes pouring out of me. I don’t need a demon to help me with this problem, I realize. I have the tools I need already.

“No, Evelyn,” I shake my head. “The armor is—it’s a feeling I’ve been carrying with me. I _want_ to take it off, but in my dream, I _deserve_ to wear it. I feel disloyal to you, and ashamed, because the Circles, the Templars, I think—it wasn’t _all_ bad.”

She remains silent, her eyes sympathetic and not angry or betrayed, so I forge ahead.

“I _worry_ , Evelyn, about you, about…all this change. Sometimes it feels like it’s too much, too fast. And that makes me guilty. I do trust you! But we can’t go back to where we were, either, because that’s…” I sigh. “I see now that it’s not an option.”

“No, it does not seem to be,” she says.

“Even the good we did, what little of it there was. I’ve tried to think of ways to save just that, but in the end, that’s been poisoned, too, hasn’t it? Like the Red Templars were.”

She opens her mouth to reply, but I hold up my hand.

“I don’t—I don’t _want_ your help with this, Evelyn. I must choose between trusting you and holding on to ideas that I had about the past. And I _have_ chosen. Yes, it’s been hard to come to terms with the fact that something that I devoted my life to was so…rotten. That everything I worked for was for naught. But that’s something I need to do on my own. If I claim to want to protect you—the Circles hurt you so much. I’m not going to let them hurt you anymore, especially if it’s through me.”

She breathes out a great gust of air.

“I appreciate what you are telling me,” she replies eventually. “I will at least tell you this—I understand what it’s like to wonder if all of your previous work was for naught. _I saved lives_ —working with apprentices before their Harrowing, traveling with the Templars, studying how to resist possession. I saved lives, but was a life lived out in the Circle really a mercy? What good is a garden in a prison?”

She shakes her head. “Perhaps we should both remind ourselves that even the most talented gardeners struggle to grow seeds in poor soil.”

“At least _then_ I know what to do,” I complain. “Leave the field fallow for a season and then plant winter rye and hairy vetch.”

She opens her mouth and then closes it in surprise.

I feel inordinately pleased with myself.

“I _did_ grow up on a farm,” I observe. I may have also been doing some reading about horticulture on my own, but she does not need to know about that.

“Mmm,” she says. “A fair point. But the real question is, what do you plant after the ground lays fallow and you’ve turned over your cover crops?”

“Peas,” I declare.

She laughs. “Our problems are solved, then. The mages and Templars will farm peas, and future generations will not suffer as we have.”

“That was basically my plan, yes,” I drawl. I wonder if she noticed what those Templar-shaped spirits were up to in the garden.

“That creature isn’t you,” she adds, her voice soft. “Your thoughts do not make you a monster. As for the past—I don’t know the answer that, other than to move forward. I like who you are now, and I have a good feeling about the man you will become in the future.”

It sounds easy to do, and I want to trust her, but…well. I hope she’s right.                                                                          

She frowns. She must have seen my doubt somehow. “You were—are you sure you are well now? That demon—I recognized it. _Do_ you need to talk to me about it?”

“I think what I need is time.” I frown back at her. “Is that why you came, because of the demon? _Are_ you actually here?”

“I came because I thought you needed me. But you didn’t, did you?’

 “I—no,” I say, surprised at my answer.

In the aftermath of finding myself in that horrible red place, perhaps I should have been feeling worse, but honestly, instead I feel reasonably pleased with myself. I might not have been entirely successful, but I fought the nightmare almost immediately. Slowly, I am growing stronger.

“Excellent,” she nods. “I should not have interfered. It is hard to not…”

“Fuss?” I offer.

“Mmm. To answer your question, though, _I_ think I am here. And if that’s the case, what in Andraste’s name am I wearing?” she demands, yanking up at the neckline of her dress. “I have never owned anything like this in my life.”

I take a closer look at her clothing for the first time. She seems to be wearing a dress of homespun linen, with a soft brown bodice. She looks like the country Fereldan girls I grew up with. Her hair is coming out of its braid, as if pieces of it were blown by the wind.

“You look—pretty,” I blurt in surprise.

She casts a critical eye down at her bosom. I suppose it _might_ be a bit more revealing than the clothing she normally wears.

Sometimes I am a very simple man.

“I am not ‘pretty.’ I noted before that this garment is impractical, especially for gardening.” She pokes at the top of one of her breasts with an irritated finger. It appears perilously close to escaping. “Is this what I generally wear in your dreams?”

“What makes you think that?” I avert my eyes from her chest.

She raises an eyebrow.

“No!”

She raises the other eyebrow.

“Fine. Sometimes.” I scowl at her, and run a hand through my hair. “A man should not have to—“

“It doesn’t have any pockets,” she frowns. “What good is looking ‘pretty’ if you can’t carry things?”

I’m still embarrassed, but I can’t help but smirk at the thought of what else she might have ended up wearing—or not wearing.

“I suppose your clothing would depend on the kind of dream, wouldn’t it?” I tease.

Her eyes twinkle up at me, and she laughs.

“This is certainly nicer than the places you’ve been in my mind, I suppose,” she chuckles.

“What are you doing here, Evelyn? We both know the Fade is dangerous. You shouldn’t be—“

She shrugs. “I heard you calling, so I came. Then there was the demon and the goat. It took more energy than I expected.”

I narrow my eyes.

“And yes,” she hurries to say, “it was not a well-advised thing to do, and I will be significantly more careful in the future.”

She gives me a decisive nod. _She_ seems to feel that we are done talking about this. She is also entirely wrong, but I let it go for now.

She looks around the room, and cocks her head at me. “Do you know this place?”

 “It is familiar,” I admit.

“Hm.” She gives me a speculative look. She taps her finger against her cheek. I don’t like that she is examining me and my dream in this way.

“What?”

“I’d like to look around,” she says. “Go for a walk with me.”

This whole situation feels peaceful and right, and I struggle to keep my guard up. Maker, I have _married_ this woman, but sometimes I feel like we are still courting. I’ve never just…held her hand and gone for a walk, have I?

“I’d rather not,” I state. “I still don’t even know what is real here. I might have dreamed you up myself.”

“Interesting. I can tell the difference between a dreamer and the dream itself, but I have extensive experience walking in the Fade,” she says. “Often the copy lacks a certain…liveliness? Verisimilitude?”

She’s not wrong, exactly. In my dreams, Evelyn is a sensual temptress, a forgiving saint, a vengeful goddess, a feminine cypher. No Fade demon or figment of my imagination has really been able to pull a true version of Evelyn out of my mind, probably because at my core, I don’t really understand her. I am a methodical man. My thoughts do not lend themselves to replicating the kinds of intuitive, unpredictable leaps she makes.

Also, even if I tried, I just don’t think I could ever come up with ways to be as frustrating and stubborn as she is, either.

“It is always best to be cautious, but we _have_ encountered one another in the Fade previously. So you cannot tell that I am…me?”

“All of those places were horrible, Evelyn. Not like this.” I gesture to the bed. “Here it is…pleasant. And that means temptation.”

“The lake was not so terrible,” she protests.

“I had to watch you kiss another man, and then several demons attacked us. I am not tempted to return there.”

“Well, I liked it,” she announces. “You said some very sweet things to me on the pier. At any rate, I don’t think this place is the realm of a demon, but if you are not interested, I will keep my theories to myself.”

She looks so huffy, I can’t help but let out a bark of laughter. This only makes her frown harder.

I poke her with my elbow.

“Are you going to share your theory with me?”

“Not likely,” she huffs. “What would a busty farm lass know about such things?”

“I like it when you tell me your ideas!” I protest. This is technically the truth. Sometimes I don’t listen all that closely or attempt to understand, but I do like it when she talks to me, very much so.

“Truly?” she looks at me suspiciously out of the corner of her eye.

“Truly,” I reply.

And then she smiles at me, big and bright. She reaches over, laces her fingers together with mine, and launches into her lecture, making a big, sweeping gesture with her free hand.

“Now, conventional wisdom about the Fade would have us believe that—“

While she talks, she keeps hold of my hand, and I think to myself, _I married her._ Something good has come of all the pain.

A snippet of what she’s just said distracts me for a moment.

“Wait—what? The _goat_ owns my dream?”

She looks at me like I am the crazy one. “No! How did you possibly deduce that from what I just explained to you? The Lady of the Skies—”

“Then an Avvar god owns my dream.”

“No. The Persistence spirit—”

“The goat demon.”

“Sometimes it’s a bird. It…owes me a favor.”

I frown. “I don’t like that part.”

“Well, it’s better than the other way around, isn’t it? Besides, contact with spirits does not have to be detrimental. All of the Seekers are touched by spirits of Faith, for example. And you _like_ Cole.”

“I don’t know if ‘like’ is exactly the word for it…”

“There’s a reason my sword is called a spirit blade, Cullen. There’s a spirit in it that’s attuned itself to me. And there’s one in the bog unicorn, too.”

“What?!”

“Well, it’s obviously not really alive,” she scoffs. “Sky Watcher says the Avvar create them; they’re called oathbound steeds. The spirit serves until its oath is fulfilled.”

“What kind of demon is inside of that thing? What did it swear an oath to you to do? Make everyone around you uncomfortable?”

“It’s not a demon, and I don’t know!” She tries to throw her hands up, but I keep hold of the one I have. “Probably Duty or something equally as tedious. They like to swear oaths.”

“Well, haven’t you asked it?”

“I can’t ask it, Cullen! It’s a horse!”

“The goat talks,” I grumble. “And apparently I’m renting this house from it.”

“Look, this dream is safe, as safe as anywhere is going to get in the Fade. Persistence drove off the Desire demon, and if I know anything about that spirit, nothing else that threatens you or me is going to be able to come back here anytime soon, all right?” she sputters. “I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore!”

_This absurd moment is going to repeat itself, in some form or another, for the rest of my life_.

For the rest of _her_ life, that is. The thought intrudes on my mind like a splash of cold water, and once it’s there, I cannot banish it.

I reach over and pull her into my lap, burying my face in the soft curve where her neck meets her shoulder. She lets out a surprised squeak, but at least does not attempt to squirm away.

“Oh, Evelyn,” I say, my lips pressed against her skin.

She wraps her arms around me and tangles her fingers in my hair.

We sit like that for a long time.

“We should go,” I sigh eventually. “Can you wake yourself up?”

She looks down at her hand. “Probably. I’m not sure if—”

“Just poke me in the side when you return,” I tell her.

“All right,” she frowns. “But—”

I kiss her. She stops talking. When I pull away, she scowls again, but does not protest further. She turns her hand over, there is a flash of green and—she is gone.

I leave the bedroom, walk down the stairs and out of the house, trying not to look around too much. The latch of the door clicks shut behind me.

The Templar-shaped spirits are still working in the garden, leaving trails of smoke behind them as they tend to spectral vegetables. The goat is in there too.

I open the gate. “Out,” I snap.

The creature ambles out, chewing the last of some sort of squash.

“She left,” it observes. “It is good that you stayed. She needs to save all her energy for what is to come.”

“And what is that, exactly?”

“I do not know. The Lady of the Skies sees something, and it has to do with the mark the Healer bears.”

_The Healer?_ It fits, strangely enough. She heals in ways other than magic.

“You don’t trust me,” it observes.

“No.”

“You are called to protect her. You fear that you will be unable to accomplish your assigned task. I understand this. She helped me, once, and when the time comes, I will assist in what ways I can.”

“I hope…” I begin, but my words trail off. No real use talking to a demon.

“I have limited understanding of hope. Find a way, and do not give up. That is all you can do.”

“Yes.”

I swear to myself, this time, I am going to save _her_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. 
> 
> Sadly, my lil family has been through some rough times in the past year or so, and I'm sorry that I left you hanging.
> 
> I read all the comments you sent while I was on my hiatus, and saw all your likes. They encouraged me to not give up on this thing. I'm glad it still matters to some of you. You matter to me, you know.
> 
> I have a couple of chapters in the works right now. No guarantees, except that even if I'm not publishing actively, I still think about the story, and I still think about you, Loyal Readers.


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